A  LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 


THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

NEW  YORK   •    BOSTON   •    CHICAGO 
ATLANTA  •    SAN   FRANCISCO 

MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  LIMITED 

LONDON   •    BOMBAY  •    CALCUTTA 
MELBOURNE 

THE  MACMILLAN  CO.  OF  CANADA,  LTD. 

TORONTO 


A   LIFE   FOR   A   LIFE 


BY 


ROBERT   HERRICK 

AUTHOR   OF    "THE   COMMON  LOT,"    "TOGETHER,' 
"  THE   MASTER    OF   THE   INN  " 


OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY 

OF 


gfltfc 

THE   MACMILLAN   COMPANY 
1910 

All  rights  reserved 


COPYRIGHT,  1910, 
BY  THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY. 

Set  up  and  electrotyped.     Published  May,  1910. 

GENERAL 


39rr«s : 

J.  8.  Gushing  Co.  —  Berwick  «fe  Smith  Co. 
Norwood,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


L'51 

•; 

CONTENTS 


BEFORE 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  THE  CHIMES  AT  DAWN 1 

II.     THE  MOSSY  ROAD  BENEATH  THE  PINES     .'  .12 

III.  AGAIN  WOMAN  CROSSES  YOUTH'S  ROAD    ...      20 

IV.  THE  BATTLE  TO  THE  STRONG 25 

V.    IN  THE  NIGHT  COMES  RESOLVE 34 

THE  ,CITY 

I.  THE  BRIDGE 41 

II.  A  WEAK  LINK  IN  THE  CHAIN 46 

III.  THE  SYMBOL 51 

IY.  ONE  NAME  AMONG  THE  MILLIONS       ....  58 

V.  THE  LAW  OF  LIFE 70 

VI.  THE  ANARCH  AND  HIS  FRIENDS 78 

VII.  THE  GREAT  MACHINE 85 

VIII.  ENSHRINED  AND  SAINTED 93 

IX.  THE  GIRL  WITH  THE  MAIMED  HAND          .        .        .106 

X.  THE  CHANCE in 

XI.  PARADISE  VALLEY 117 

XII.  OVER  FIELDS  AND  MOUNTAINS 13° 

XIII.  THE  COUNCIL  OF  THE  GODS 137 

XIV.  OF  DEEDS  AND  THE  MAN 146 

XV.  THAT  LARGER  HORIZON 153 

XVI.     THE  STEPS  OF  POWER  .         .        .  »    •        •        •         .167 

XVII.     THE  PROPHET  AND  HIS  BEARD 180 

XVIII.     IN  THE  STILL  DECEMBER  FOREST       .        .        .        .185 
XIX.    AT  THE  CAVE  OF  THE  PROPHET         .        .        •        .193 

v 


vi  CONTENTS 

OHAPTKB  PAG« 

XX.  THE  WILL  BEHIND 199 

XXI.  OUR  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS          ....  205 
XXII.  "LIFE,  LIBERTY,  AND  THE  PURSUIT  OF  HAPPI 
NESS"        217 

XXIII.  THE  BRONZE  IMAGE 228 

XXIV.  THE  TROUGH 236 

XXV.  THE  FEAST  OF  THE  PLUNDERERS          .        .        .  247 

XXVI.  «  COME  WITH  ME  !  " 253 

XXVII.  "  COME  WITH  ME  !  " 261 

XXVIII.  «COME  WITH  ME!" 268 

XXIX.  THE  MAKING  OF  THE  ANARCH      ....  275 

XXX.  THE  SPIRIT  OF  HATE 285 

XXXI.  FOR  "WHAT  is  LIFE?"  THE  SOUL  DEMANDS     .  288 

XXXII.  "  I   RETURN    TO   MY   PEOPLE  " '   294 

XXXIII.  THE  MEETING  OF  EQUALS 302 

XXXIV.  THE  GULF 313 

XXXV.  EVASION 319 

XXXVI.  To  ALL  MEN  THERE  COMES  THE  DAY          .        .  326 

XXXVII.  THE  FOUNDLING  RETURNS 333 

XXXVIII.  THE  BLANK  WALL 341 

XXXIX.  INTO  THE  RANKS 350 

XL.  IN  THE  RANKS 362 

XLI.  THE  SOMETHING  FOR  SELF 370 

XLII.  THE  BACCHANALE 381 

XLTII.  THE  WHIRLWIND 391 

XLIV.  THEN  THE  FIRE 399 

XLV.  THE  ANARCH  MEETS  HIS  FATHER         .        .        .  411 

AFTER 

I.  AFTER  THE  STORM 419 

II.  PROMISES 423 

III.  PARADISE  VALLEY  .                                 ...  430 


BEFORE 


UNIVERSITY 

OF 


A   LIFE   FOR   A   LIFE 


THE    CHIMES   AT  DAWN 

THE  cracked  bells  were  playing  in  the  little  wooden  belfry 
of  the  old  church.  In  an  uncertain,  quavering  voice  they  an 
nounced  some  ancient  festival  that  had  been  brought,  with  the 
wood  and  the  brick  of  the  building  itself,  from  a  distant  land, 
an  older  people.  In  the  fresh  dawn  of  this  New  World  morning 
they  were  celebrating  the  glory  of  a  forgotten  saint,  —  one 
whose  halo  was  no  longer  radiant  with  symbolic  meaning. 
Their  quavering  voice  roused  no  tender  echoes  in  this  little 
American  town.  The  early  passers-by  glanced  indifferently 
at  the  open  church,  through  whose  doors  an  old  woman  was 
entering,  and  went  about  their  business  of  the  May  morning, 
while  others,  just  waking  for  the  work  of  the  day,  heard  the 
familiar  voice  of  the  chimes  coming  through  streets  and  over 
roofs,  but  heeded  it  not. 

Nevertheless,  the  cracked  bells  in  the  little  belfry  of  the  old 
church  did  not  sound  in  vain  that  May  morning.  A  youth 
asleep  in  an  upper  chamber  of  the  adjoining  house  moved  at 
their  touch.  The  plaintive,  hesitant  chords  of  the  tune  pene 
trated  the  arena  of  his  dreams,  setting  in  vibration  the  complex 
stuff  of  his  being  and  ordering  the  confused  visions  of  his  sleep 
in  vivid  pictures.  He  turned  on  his  bed,  a  firm  hand  clutching 
an  invisible  object,  a  strong  white  arm  curved  beneath  his  head. 
The  first  rays  of  the  sun  fell  upon  his  outstretched  body  and 
crept  upwards  to  the  smiling  lips,  spreading  over  the  broad 
B  1 


2  A  LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

brown  face,  touching  the  closed  eyes,  lighting  with  gold  the 
thick  curling  hair,  until  the  whole  body  of  the  youth  lay 
bathed  in  a  flood  of  warm  golden  light.  Thus  revealed,  he 
had  the  beauty  of  a  perfect  body,  —  dark  hair,  moulded  face, 
rounded  muscles,  firm,  white  flesh,  —  quiescent,  undeter 
mined  force!  Along  the  corded  throat  the  pulses  beat 
smoothly,  and  a  dew  of  warm  perspiration  beaded  his  brow 
and  curling  hair.  A  clean  young  animal,  full  of  health,  al 
most  of  complete  growth,  with  supple  limbs  and  blooded  flesh, 
he  lay  there  in  the  morning  sun,  his  eyes  closed  in  that  other 
world  of  dream,  asleep  and  absent,  nevertheless  abounding 
with  life.  ^ 

The  cracked  chimes  had  summoned  him  from  a  confused 
action  of  battling  images,  tenebrous  with  the  cloud  of  night, 
and  their  uncertain  notes  stealing  through  his  muffled  con 
sciousness  had  roused  dim  sensations,  denied  to  waking  mo 
ments,  coloring  the  atmosphere  of  his  being  with  strange  and 
beautiful  emotion.  The  chords  of  the  cracked  bells  touched 
mysterious  depths  within  him,  unawakened,  and  thence 
issued  a  wonderful  flood  of  sound  and  form.  He  was  borne 
upwards  into  vast  space  where  noble  figures  were  ever  sweep 
ing  past,  and  the  air  was  vibrant  with  a  mighty  symphony, 
rising  and  falling  on  the  swift  wind.  The  faces  of  beautiful 
men  and  women  shone  upon  him,  and  one  spoke,  a  woman 
folded  in  a  golden  cloud,  —  spoke  as  she  passed  him  on  the 
wings  of  music,  smiling  in  welcome. 

"Come!  "  she  said,  passing. 

And  the  dreamer  in  a  great  longing  cried,  "Whither?" 
But  she  had  gone  upwards  into  the  cloudy  periphery  of  his 
world,  and  straining  after  her  he  was  lifted  into  a  vaster 
panorama  where  events  not  understood  but  of  great  moment 
fired  him  with  desire  and  purpose.  Something  in  this  super 
human  world  was  going  forward,  not  yet  revealed,  but  of 
utmost  significance,  in  which  his  part  must  be  played.  The 


THE  CHIMES  AT  DAWN  3 

strains  of  the  great  symphony  filled  his  ears  sweetly;  his 
whole  being  was  a-quiver  with  joy  and  desire.  This  suffused 
atmosphere  of  the  dream  world  irradiated  his  being,  like  the 
flood  of  sunlight  poured  over  his  body :  it  filled  him  with 
strength  and  love  and  large  happiness,  —  an  Olympian  ful 
ness  of  self,  sensuous  in  intensity,  welling  mysteriously 
from  within.  And  all  this  grand  world  about  the  youth, 
while  the  feeble  bells  quavered  out  the  notes  of  an  ancient 
tune,  ringing  outward  into  the  joyous  May  morning  their 
metallic  message,  but  wafting  this  sleeping  one  abroad 
above  the  earth  by  the  magic  of  their  sound !  .  .  . 
"Come  !"  the  beautiful  one  sang  in  his  ears,  and  far  be 
yond  in  the  dim  glory  of  things  he  saw  again  her  face, 
smiling,  inviting.  .  .  . 

The  chimes  ceased,  the  ringer  having  rounded  out  his 
simple  tune,  and  the  sleeper  stirred,  relaxing  his  straining 
arms.  He  opened  his  eyes  to  a  broad  beam  of  sunlight, 
winked  in  misty  confusion,  trying  to  fuse  the  two  worlds 
in  which  he  found  himself.  Still  under  the  charm  of  that 
larger  state  of  dream,  he  sought  vainly  to  recall  the  images 
which  had  been  a  part  of  his  ineffable  feeling,  and  above 
all  the  radiant  face  of  the  dream  woman  who  had  spoken. 
In  vain!  Slowly  under  the  eye  of  the  sun  the  waking  world 
asserted  itself,  revealing  the  dull  outlines  of  his  attic  cham 
ber.  He  gathered  the  familiar  threads  of  his  existence  in 
their  wonted  association.  There  was  the  bare,  uncurtained 
room,  warm  with  golden  sun.  His  clothes  lay  tumbled  upon 
the  floor,  and  a  book  was  sprawled  open  on  the  counterpane 
where  he  had  dropped  it  the  night  before  —  a  manual  of 
commercial  arithmetic.  Thus  he  remembered  himself.  He 
closed  his  eyes,  shutting  out  the  fact,  inviting  the  dream. 
Still  in  the  mirage  of  that  wonderful  inner  radiance  of  feeling 
that  had  been  stirred  by  the  cracked  bells,  suffused  with  the 
sense  of  vast  beauty  and  peace  under  the  shadowy  architec- 


4  A  LIFE  FOR  A   LIFE 

ture  of  a  spacious,  harmonious  world,  he  lay  in  the  sunlight, 
trying  to  preserve  the  sweetness  of  his  vision  as  one  might 
strive  to  recall  the  melody  that  has  passed  beyond  the  ear. 
It  was  fading,  this  marvellous  vision,  fading  as  the  sun  crept 
warmly  over  his  body  and  gilded  the  drab  walls  of  the  attic 
chamber,  —  fading  before  the  day  that  was  to  be.  ...  The 
bells  quivered  again,  with  the  jubilant  notes  of  a  triumphant 
hymn,  quaintly  moving  upwards  in  a  peal  of  affirmation,  — 
an  old,  old  song  of  Faith,  soothing  the  hearts  of  believers. 
The  youth  leaped  from  his  bed  and  strode  to  the  window. 

There  was  the  earth!  It  was  almost  as  beautiful  as  the 
radiant  vision  of  his  dream,  —  dew  on  the  grass  plot  before 
the  old  church,  soft  plumes  of  fresh-leaving  trees,  velvety 
breasts  of  gentle  hills  beyond  the  dingy  little  wooden  town. 
The  cool  breath  of  the  opening  earth  touched  his  bare  flesh. 
Below  in  the  churchyard  the  first  green  things  were  pushing 
upwards  from  the  dark  mould.  The  tiny  leaves  of  the 
maple  were  reddish,  and  beyond,  whence  came  the  sun  flood 
ing  over  the  roofs  of  the  town,  the  feathery  foliage  of  the 
elms  was  misty  gray  upon  the  hills,  telling  of  spring  about 
to  bloom.  As  the  youth  hung  there,  drinking  the  morning, 
the  factory  bell  from  the  paper  mill  below  broke  harshly 
into  the  final  peal  of  the  chimes.  A  street  car  ground  noisily 
around  the  curve  at  the  corner.  Men  and  women  by  twos 
and  threes  began  to  pass  :  the  day  of  the  world  of  work 
had  begun.  But  the  youth  lingered  with  his  eyes  upon  the 
golden  hills. 

A  thin  voice  came  upwards  from  the  church.  "  Forgive 
us  our  trespasses.  .  .  ."  The  youth's  lips  curved  in  a  smile. 
He  beheld  the  land  of  desire  behind  the  hills,  —  the  greening 
fields,  the  dark  woods,  and  far  away  to  the  eastward  at  the 
mouth  of  the  mill  river  the  level  marshes,  through  whose  still, 
black  channels  flowed  the  tides,  and  then  a  margin  of  glisten 
ing  sand,  and  beyond  all  the  cold,  dark  sea,  the  open  sea! 


THE  CHIMES  AT  DAWN  5 

And  life  flamed  in  his  blood  with  exultation  and  desire. 
The  voice  of  the  minister  in  the  church  beneath  beat  queru 
lously, —  "We  beseech  thee,  O  Lord!"  .  .  .  The  open  sea! 
It  called  to  the  listening  youth  across  the  hills,  over  the  dingy 
roofs  of  the  town.  "We  beseech  thee  .  .  .  miserable  sin 
ners!" 

The  youth  thrust  himself  hastily  into  his  clothes  and 
stole  down  through  the  silent  house.  A  door  opened  on  the 
floor  below,  and  a  dishevelled  woman,  clutching  a  faded 
wrapper  about  her  ample  shoulders,  demanded  sleepily:  — 

"What's  the  matter,  Hugh!  Where  you  going  at  this 
time  of  day?" 

"I'm  going  —  away!"  the  youth  called  back. 

"Don't  you  want  your  breakfast?"  —and  to  the  impa 
tient  gesture  of  denial  she  replied,  a  note  of  alarm  in  the 
sleepy  voice,  —  "When  will  you  be  back?" 

"Oh,"  called  the  impatient  youth,  his  hand  upon  the  door 
handle,  "I  don't  know,  Nell!" 

The  woman  gave  up  her  questioning,  vaguely  troubled. 
A  child's  voice  came  plaintively  from  the  bedroom,  and  the 
youth  paused  at  the  threshold,  then  pulled  the  door  behind 
him,  shutting  out  this  household  world  that  would  lay  hands 
upon  him,  eager  to  pursue  the  fading  vision  of  the  dawn  over 
the  hills  into  the  sunrise  beside  the  open  sea.  As  he  passed 
the  church,  the  priest's  thin  voice  still  uttered  prayer.  In 
the  street  there  were  now  many  hurrying  figures,  obeying 
the  summons  of  the  factory  bell,  shambling  to  the  day's  toil 
with  bent  head  and  sleepy  eyes.  That  was  his  path,  also  — 
to  the  task.  But  to-day  he  would  flee.  The  vision  still 
held  him  close  in  its  embrace,  and  he  was  fearful  lest  the 
glories  of  that  inner  world  might  utterly  fade,  the  melody 
die,  at  the  touch  of  familiar  fact.  His  eyes  upon  the  hills 
beyond,  he  hastened  down  the  street,  past  the  long  brick 
mill,  through  the  dingy  heart  of  the  town,  glancing  here 


6  A  LIFE  FOR  A   LIFE 

and  there  at  some  scene  of  his  bondage.  In  the  room  be 
neath  that  sprawling  sign,  —  THE  NATIONAL  COMMERCIAL 
COLLEGE,  —  the  rudiments  of  business  usage  had  been 
driven  into  his  unwilling  mind,  to  fit  him  for  the 
struggle.  But  this  glorious  day  he  would  leave  the  struggle 
behind.  He  was  due  somewhere  beyond,  quickened  with 
impulse  that  could  not  be  translated  into  business  terms. 

Mere  sensuous  love  of  the  strong  new  year,  this,  —  youth 
meeting  youth,  and  the  lure  of  the  unknown  world;  but 
stronger  than  all  was  the  vision  of  that  dream  whose  fragrance 
hung  still  about  him,  lifting  his  eyes  upwards,  beckoning 
him  from  the  gloomy  house  beside  the  church,  from  the  dark 
mill  town.  So  his  eager  steps  turned  outwards  to  the  leafy 
hillside,  pressed  onwards  into  the  sun. 

The  tunes  rung  by  the  cracked  chimes  had  other  ends, 
the  youth  well  knew,  —  to  spur  man  into  the  path  of  duty 
and  sacrifice,  denial  of  self,  the  stony  ascending  way  to  God. 
Strangely  they  had  fired  him  to  rebellion!  Careless  of  pres 
ent  and  future,  he  swung  on,  heading  vaguely  towards  that 
Something  Beyond  which  is  promised  to  youth,  where  sweet 
Desire  and  harsh  Fact  become  fused  in  harmony.  The 
music  of  his  dream  land,  so  wondrously  beautiful,  rang  faintly 
in  his  ears,  making  melody  for  his  evading  footsteps.  There 
might  never  be  for  him  a  return  to  the  town,  —  the  thought 
lay  somewhere  within;  for  this  road  led  to  crossroads 
whence  other  roads  stretched  on  into  the  endless  space  of 
the  wide  world.  And  within  their  reach  was  the  glorious 
life,  —  beauty  and  peace,  deeds  and  reward,  —  somewhere 
to  be  found  his  life,  himself.  For  the  youth  was  young  with 
the  year! 

Meantime  he  was  leaving  the  last  straggling  houses  of  the 
town  behind  him.  He  smiled  at  the  spruce  dwelling  of  the 
mill-owner,  with  shaven  lawn  and  plate-windows.  It 
was  a  neat  world  of  fact  for  this  one!  The  road 


THE   CHIMES  AT  DAWN  7 

mounted  now,  parting  from  the  river,  winding  among 
the  hills,  and  as  the  road  climbed  the  spirits  of  the  youth 
rose  to  the  buoyant  mood  of  venture.  What  lay  beyond, 
around  that  turn?  A  lumber  wagon,  creeping  with  creak 
ing  caution  towards  the  town.  At  the  next  turn  a  man 
passed  him  riding  swiftly  on  a  bicycle,  and  twisting 
his  head  he  looked  inquiringly.  The  youth  smiled,  waved 
a  careless  hand  to  the  one  bound  for  the  town  and  the  day's 
business  —  such  a  man  as  should  be,  intent  upon  the  work 
of  this  life.  The  youth  laughed  in  gay  irony  and  flung  him 
self  down  beneath  a  glossy  pine  tree. 

The  little  hilltops  lifted  on  to  other  little  hilltops,  all 
gently  rolling  fold  upon  fold  toward  the  sea.  The  trees 
were  leaving  from  the  bud,  throwing  filmy,  lacelike  shadows 
from  their  branches,  and  beside  the  road  and  in  the  fields 
water  trickled  freely,  running  from  the  awakening  earth  to 
the  great  sea  beyond.  .  .  . 

Thus  gay,  with  careless  step,  nevertheless  holding  to  one 
direction  as  if  steered  by  an  unseen  hand,  the  youth  threaded 
the  hills  until  he  came  to  a  small  village,  set  between  two 
low  ridges.  He  quickened  his  steps  as  he  reached  the  familiar 
stretch  of  road  between  dark  willow  trunks.  The  old  trees 
made  a  tunnel  for  the  road,  and  the  memory  of  childhood 
fears  at  this  forbidding  passage  seized  him.  Beyond  the 
willows  the  road  trickled  in  friendly  fashion  between  turfy 
edges,  with  a  grass-grown  mound  down  the  centre,  as  it  did 
when  he  raced  through  its  solitude  with  bare  feet.  Meadows 
already  delicately  green  lay  on  either  side,  —  part  of  old 
Larry  Todd's  many-acred  farm.  A  brook  gurgled  in  a  rich 
golden  flood  across  the  road.  He  knew  every  inch  of  the 
way:  it  was  filled  with  his  woes  and  his  joys.  Through 
that  black  tunnel  made  by  the  thick  willow  branches  he  had 
often  fled  homewards  in  fear  of  a  tramp,  —  some  unfamiliar 
figure  seen  slouching  along  the  road.  Dark  nights  he  had 


8  A  LIFE   FOR   A  LIFE 

driven  over  this  road,  marvelling  at  the  skill  with  which  the 
horse  chose  his  footing,  expecting  momentarily  an  appari 
tion  to  loom  forth  from  the  dark.  In  winter  mornings  he 
had  ploughed  through  its  untraced  whiteness;  in  summer  he 
had  sweated  toilsomely,  tugging -at  some  burden.  For  here, 
in  this  small  neglected  corner  of  the  world,  —  this  country 
by-path,  —  he  had  lived  his  early  years  until  his  people  had 
taken  the  worn  road  to  the  town.  In  the  unpainted  house 
beside  a  meadow,  now  empty  and  shining  drearily  from  its 
curtainless  windows  as  with  the  eyes  of  age  looking  forth  upon 
the  green  earth,  the  youth  had  once  lived.  He  pressed  his 
face  close  to  one  of  the  small  panes,  and  stared  in  at  the  for 
lorn  desertion  of  the  familiar  room.  Scraps  of  paper  torn 
from  the  walls  lay  upon  the  floor,  and  a  clutter  of  rubbish,  the 
feathers  of  the  family  abandoning  its  old  nest.  The  place 
seemed  weary  of  living.  He  turn&d  away,  a  chord  of  pity 
in  his  heart.  Across  the  road  was  the  gaunt  barn.  Here 
in  a  dark  haymow  old  man  Grant  had  found  him  one  morn 
ing  when  he  came  there  for  his  early  milking.  The  youth 
had  often  heard  the  story  from  the  old  man.  "There  you 
lay  asleep,  the  first  any  one  hereabouts  had  seen  of  you,  — 
a  baby  not  more'n  three  months  old.  You  just  floated  up 
to  us  out  of  the  world,  and  nobody  ever  could  tell  where 
you  come  from!"  .  .  . 

The  old  man  had  taken  him  into  his  house  and  cared  for 
him  as  one  of  his  own.  When  the  family  had  moved  to  the 
mill  town,  he  had  gone  like  the  others  to  live  with  the  married 
daughter,  that  large,  slatternly  woman,  Nell,  and  there  he 
had  got  such  schooling  as  the  fading  fortunes  of  the  family 
permitted.  Now  old  man  Grant  was  dead,  his  own  sons 
scattered  over  the  country,  and  he,  standing  at  the  door  of 
the  shabby  nest,  was  about  to  take  flight  also.  The  empty 
house  stared  at  him  from  its  sad-aged  eyes,  and  the  youth 
hastened  on.  Presently  a  shadow  appeared,  a  fat  shadow 


THE   CHIMES  AT  DAWN  9 

that  brushed  the  pines  on  either  side  of  the  narrow  road. 
It  was  a  heavy  load  of  yellow  hay  drawn  by  two  pant 
ing  horses.  The  driver  was  buried  in  the  hay,  his  head  a 
tiny  black  spot  in  the  yellow. 

"An  early  start  Todd  must  have  made  from  the  marsh 
this  morning!"  the  youth  thought,  and  as  the  yellow  load 
crept  nearer  he  shouted,  " Hello!  Uncle  Larry!" 

A  wrinkled  little  face  popped  up  from  the  soft  hay,  and 
a  pair  of  small  sharp  eyes  looked  down  at  the  youth.  A 
kindly  grin  parted  the  thin,  bristling  lips,  as  the  old  man 
said :  — 

"That  you,  Hugh?  What  you  doin'  here  this  time  of 
day?" 

The  big  horses  stopped  and,  turning  their  heads,  looked 
inquiringly  at  the  stranger. 

"Oh,  I  just  thought  Fa  come  out  and  see  the  old  place." 

"So!"  The  farmer  rubbed  his  upper  lip  meditatively, 
trying  to  fit  this  vague  explanation  into  his  private  scheme 
of  things  as  they  are.  Having  rubbed  his  stubbled  chin 
while  entertaining  various  hypotheses,  —  neglecting  the  only 
right  one,  which  was  the  sap  of  youth,  —  he  fell  back  upon 
further  questioning:  — 

"All  right  with  the  folks?" 

Hugh  nodded. 

" Still  goin'  to  school?" 

"No  —  not  since  father  died.  Got  a  job  —  keeping 
books." 

"So!"  murmured  the  little  old  man,  reflecting  further 
upon  the  job  that  kept  itself  while  its  owner  loafed  in  the 
country. 

"Goin'nshin?" 

"Hadn't  thought  about  it." 

"Well,  come  up  to  the  house  for  dinner." 

"Thanks  —  perhaps  I  will  —  later." 


10  A   LIFE  FOR  A   LIFE 

The  farmer  grinned  again  in  benevolent  surprise,  chirped 
friskily  to  his  horses,  and  rumbled  on,  cushioned  in  his  load 
of  salty  hay,  which  left  behind  it  a  wake  of  yellow  streamers 
clinging  to  the  pine  branches.  The  youth  stood  idly  watch 
ing  the  yellow  load  until  it  was  engulfed  in  the  tunnel  among 
the  willows.  He,  too,  had  his  thoughts. 

That  was  a  familiar  figure  of  toil,  the  bent  little  old  man 
nodding  on  his  seat  hi  the  soft  mass  of  yellow  hay  —  toil 
from  dawn  to  dark,  from  season  to  season,  the  patient  half- 
animal  toil  of  the  farmer,  gleaning  the  scanty  fruit  of  these 
thin  acres.  He  wondered.  Uncle  Larry  Todd  —  he  was 
some  connection  of  old  m^n  Grant  —  had  been  bent  like  this, 
and  furrowed,  when  the  youth  was  a  boy  and  lived  in  the 
abandoned  house.  Even  then  he  was  gathering  in  the  acres 
of  his  less  patient  or  fortunate  neighbors  until  all  the  land 
on  either  side  of  the  road  for  a  mile  or  more  was  his,  —  the 
pines,  the  orchards,  the  meadows,  the  pastures,  —  even 
Grant's  deserted  home.  Like  a  creeping,  acquisitive  creature 
he  was  slowly  covering  the  entire  village,  adding  acre  to  acre 
with  blind  faith  in  land.  Some  day  soon  he  must  die  and 
leave  his  farms  to  young  Percy  Todd,  who  had  been  away 
at  college  and  now  was  venturing  for  himself  in  the 
great  City,  and  to  his  daughter  May,  the  youth's  old 
playmate,  who  also  had  been  "put  forward  in  the  world"  as 
much  as  a  country  girl  might  be,  to  the  reach  of  a  superior 
education.  ...  A  kind,  sweet  heart  the  old  man  had,  and 
in  earlier  years  a  lively  twinkle  of  wit,  as  Hugh  knew  well. 
But  toil  had  bent  him  early,  the  desire  to  possess.  He 
would  "do  well  by  the  children."  And  for  them  the  soft 
beds  and  the  ease  of  life  —  opportunity  so  golden  in  this 
land  of  promise  —  which  he  had  foregone.  This  very  morn 
ing  he  had  set  forth  before  dawn  from  the  chilly  marsh,  with 
a  breakfast  of  cold  coffee  and  a  piece  of  stale  bread.  Such 
might  have  been  his  own  life,  Hugh  reflected,  missed  by  the 


THE  CHIMES  AT  DAWN  11 

merest  accident  because  Nell  had  chosen  to  marry  a  man 
from  the  mill  town.  He  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  stepped 
lightly  down  the  soft  road. 

Yes,  he  should  go  to  the  old  farmhouse,  in  whose  roomy 
kitchen  he  had  eaten  many  a  meal,  and  later,  when  the  hands 
were  gone  and  the  farmer  had  returned  to  his  eternal  task,  he 
would  have  some  talk  with  the  girl. 

For  that,  too,  must  have  lain  in  the  background  of  his  mind. 


II 


THE   MOSSY  ROAD  BENEATH   THE   PINES 

BEHIND  the  red-roofed  cider-mill  a  wood-road  ran  through 
a  neglected  orchard  into  a  deep  wood  of  dark  pines.  The 
ancient  apple  trees  scattered  among  the  feathery  growth  of 
young  pines  still  blossomed  in  spring  and  brought  a  few  withered 
apples  to  fruit.  A  thicket  of  hazel  bushes  and  blackberry 
vines  concealed  the  foundation  stones  where  once  —  before 
the  memory  of  the  Todds  —  there  had  been  a  dwelling.  But 
the  pines,  ever  encroaching  upon  the  orchard  and  reclaiming  their 
own  to  silence  and  fragrant  solitude,  topped  the  gnarled  fruit 
trees  with  waving  plumes  of  tender  green.  Beneath  them 
the  earth  was  cushioned  with  a  moist  carpet  of  moss,  which 
covered  the  old  road,  dimpling  in  curves  and  ridges.  Lying 
on  this  cool  bed  beneath  the  pines,  one  might  look  down  a  dim 
vista  of  dead  branches  among  the  thicker  trees  of  the  woods 
beyond.  It  was  still  and  dusk  within  the  pines,  and  overhead 
the  green  plumes  waved  softly  in  a  field  of  pure  azure.  .  .  . 

This  spot  Hugh  Grant  had  seen  all  the  morning,  —  the  old 
road  running  through  the  orchard  into  the  twilight  forest. 
As  a  boy  he  had  played  about  the  pungent  cider-mill,  then 
ventured  a  little  way  into  the  orchard  tangle,  skirting  the  mys 
tery  of  the  unknown  forest.  Then  in  bolder  years  he  had 
explored  the  winding  road  until  he  found  its  end  in  a  broad 
swamp,  from  which  oozed  a  stream  that  trickled  towards  the 
sea.  He  remembered  the  morning  twilight  of  the  pines,  their 
cool  remoteness  from  the  busy  roads  of  men.  Now  at  last,  as 
the  sun  began  to  slope  westwards,  he  lay  on  the  soft  moss, 

12 


THE  MOSSY  ROAD  BENEATH  THE  PINES      13 

gazing  up  through  the  dead  branches  of  the  pines  to  the  cloud 
less  sky.  And  seated  beside  him  a  girl  was  plucking  carelessly 
at  the  spirals  of  the  green  moss.  May  Todd  was  large  and 
very  fair,  with  soft  white  hands.  She  said  little,  but  time 
and  again  glanced  hi  full  friendly  fashion  at  the  youth 
stretched  out  upon  the  moss.  As  he  seemed  lost  in  the  space 
above  his  head,  she  fell  to  words. 

"Father  said  you  had  gone  to  work." 

"Yes." 

There  had  been  other  plans  for  this  foundling,  she  knew, 
ambitious  ones,  as  seemed  to  fit  his  ability,  but  those  were 
in  the  days  when  old  Grant  was  alive  and  prospering.  Then 
Hugh  was  to  have  taken  up  the  old  man's  former  profession, 
become  a  surveyor,  and  seek  his  fortune  in  a  new  country. 
Now  he  was  a  clerk  in  a  shop  and  kept  books.  The  girl 
said :  — 

"You  won't  be  staying  in  that  town  long — there's  not  much 
life  there!" 

The  youth  made  a  vague  gesture. 

"Percy  likes  the  City.  He's  doing  finely  in  business,"  she 
added,  with  a  touch  of  pride. 

"So  I  heard." 

"He  wants  father  to  put  some  money  in  the  firm.  But 
you  know  father:  land  is  the  only  thing  he  cares  for." 

"He  has  plenty  of  it." 

"I  should  say  so!  Old  stony  fields.  ...  I'd  like  to  go 
to  the  City  the  same  as  Percy;"  and  then,  in  mutinous  tone, 
"If  it  weren't  for  father,  I'd  not  be  here  long." 

The  man  was  free  to  venture,  the  woman  tied  to  some  dull 
duty.  And  the  easiest  way  to  break  the  cord  of  duty  was 
to  knit  another!  She  looked  gently  at  the  youth. 

"What  do  you  want  to  go  away  for?"  he  exclaimed.  For 
the  moment  the  best  spot  in  all  the  world  seemed  to  him  just 
here  behind  the  old  mill  in  the  shadow  of  the  silent  pines. 


14  A   LIFE  FOR  A   LIFE 

"I'd  like  to  live  before  I'm  too  old!"  the  girl  retorted, 
plucking  heatedly  at  the  soft  moss.  "Anybody  would!" 
That  a  girl  pretty  and  quite  alive  to  what  life  might  hold 
of  pleasure  and  triumph  for  her  should  be  content  to  drudge 
on  in  a  dull  corner  of  the  universe  like  this,  while  youth  ran 
out,  was  plainly  stupid. 

"Maybe  it's  much  the  same  there  —  in  the  City,"  he  sug 
gested  idly. 

"That  depends  on  what  you  are  good  for,"  she  replied 
positively.  "All  the  clever  ones  try  their  luck  in  the  City. 
You  know  Jim  Read?  He's  in  a  bank.  And  the  Reads 
weren't  much  at  home.  His  sister  Nancy  is  going  to  marry 
a  man  she  knew  through  Jim." 

She  sighed.  All  things  were  open  in  the  city,  the  great 
City!  And  life  —  this  life  —  was  speeding  by,  all  the  life 
that  she  was  to  have. 

"Perhaps  I'll  go  there  some  day,"  the  youth  mused.  "Fa 
ther  expected  me  to  go." 

"Of  course!  You'd  do  well  in  the  City.  You'd  get  your 
chance  there!" 

She  looked  on  him,  and  the  youth  looked  back  into  her 
eyes.  Then  his  glance  fell  to  the  soft  white  hand  half  buried 
in  the  moss. 

"You  would  like  to  live  in  the  City?" 

"Of  course!" 

His  hand  met  hers,  and  held  it  timidly,  and  the  smile  faded 
from  his  lips.  The  girl  looked  away,  still  playing  in  the 
moss  with  her  free  hand.  .  .  . 

It  was  the  first  amorous  boldness  of  youth!  The  girl's 
warm  white  hand  still  lay  in  his,  and  she  stole  a  glance  at 
him  that  said,  — 

"Well,  I  like  you.  .  .  .  What  does  it  mean  — for  me?" 
Her  breath  fluttered  through  half-open  lips.  His  face 
drew  closer  to  hers.  Another  wave,  impulse  of  youth, 


THE  MOSSY  ROAD  BENEATH  THE   PINES      15 

leaping  up  between  the  two  —  and  their  lips  had  met.  Then 
moments,  while  a  bird  chirped  softly  in  the  tree  above.  Mo 
ments!  The  yielding  curve  of  her  breast  pressed  against 
his  heart.  His  eyes,  warm  and  vivid,  met  hers,  veiled  and 
soft.  Her  lips  trembled  on  his.  .  .  .  And  suddenly  the 
blue  went  out  from  the  heaven  of  his  glorious  day.  The 
touch  of  the  girl's  warm  lips  had  somehow  curdled  the  milk 
of  his  youth,  and  his  heart  became  heavy.  Withdrawing 
herself  from  his  embrace,  the  girl  looked  at  him  accusingly, 
yet  invitingly. 

"Hugh!"  she  murmured. 

About  to  bloom  and  sweet  as  the  May  day,  she  craved  him, 
the  lovable  youth.  Hands  and  lips,  having  touched,  would 
play  the  play  again,  deny  and  yield,  in  the  eternal  game. 

But  with  the  youth  not  so!  Hers  was  not  the  face  that 
had  smiled  upon  him  in  the  clouds  of  the  morning  dream,  and 
now,  his  will  crossed  by  this  impulse  of  youth,  tangled  in  the 
mystery  of  sex,  he  felt  the  bitter  loss  of  the  ethereal  one,  who 
had  ridden  in  gold  upon  the  heights  and  spoken  in  song. 
She  was  gone,  and  the  tender  mood  of  mystery  that  she  had 
thrown  about  his  day.  .  .  .  With  that  first  kiss  a  fiery 
thing  had  leaped  in  his  blood,  the  surge  of  sex,  and  in  its 
light  he  saw  the  sentimental  fancy  for  what  it  was  —  soft 
mask  of  the  animal.  The  face  of  lust  gleamed  behind  the 
blush  of  sentiment.  And  he  began  to  know  himself.  .  .  . 
But  there  was  the  girl  by  his  side,  with  her  kissed  lips  still 
parted,  glancing  at  him  tenderly  from  her  long-lashed  eyes. 
He  turned  away. 

Soon  they  were  walking  together  through  the  dark  wood, 
he  striding  a  little  ahead,  impatiently,  the  girl  tripping  after 
him  with  reproachful  eyes,  then  sidling  close,  her  fingers 
slipping  into  his  with  gentle  caress. 

Thus  the  farmer,  who  in  a  neighboring  field  was  running  a 


16  A  LIFE  FOR  A   LIFE 

deep  furrow  through  the  fertile  earth  behind  his  horses,  be 
held  the  two  hand  in  hand,  and  paused  to  look  thoughtfully 
after  the  girl  and  the  youth.  So,  thought  the  old  man,  this 
was  the  secret  of  the  boy's  holiday!  And  now  he  got  but 
half  the  cause.  Hugh  was  only  a  foundling,  and  David 
Grant  in  his  failing  fortune  had  not  been  able  to  do  for  him 
what  he  had  intended.  But  Hugh  was  a  clever,  likable 
fellow,  able  to  make  his  way  into  the  world  for  himself. 
The  farmer  cast  his  eye  over  some  of  those  acres,  despised 
by  his  children,  so  painfully  scraped  together,  field  by  field, 
and  frowned,  then  chirped  to  his  horses,  knowing  in  his  heart 
that  in  spite  of  all  his  care  for  his  posterity,  whatever  the  girl 
would,  she  could.  And  he  ploughed  his  furrow. 

But  the  girl,  side  by  side  with  the  youth,  now  glancing 
down,  now  shyly  looking  into  his  face  and  gently  pressing 
the  captive  hand,  was  not  sure  that  what  she  would  she  could! 
For  since  their  lips  had  met,  something  hard  and  stern  had 
entered  that  youth's  fair  face.  It  was  safer  for  the  moment 
to  fall  back  upon  the  objective  world;  moreover,  she  had  her 
thought. 

"How's  Nell?"   she  asked. 

"Just  as  always." 

"I  should  think  it  would  be  hard  for  her  since  her  father 
died.  Is  Nat  any  better  to  her?" 

"No  —  about  the  same." 

"Too  bad!  She  was  crazy  for  him,  though.  ...  It 
can't  be  the  same  for  you  since  the  old  man  died." 

"It  isn't." 

After  the  lapse  of  a  few  moments,  insinuatingly,  "Then 
what  do  you  stay  for?" 

"Well—  '  he  began  vaguely  and  broke  off.  He  did  not 
like  to  voice  the  feeling  that  kept  him  faithful  to  his  founder 
ing  ship.  When  he  had  drifted  up  helpless  out  of  the  wide 
world  to  the  old  man's  haymow,  he  had  been  taken  by  kind 


THE  MOSSY  ROAD  BENEATH  THE  PINES      17 

hands.  Now  that  his  benefactor  had  gone,  leaving  behind 
him  helpless  ones,  —  the  shiftless  woman  and  her  young,  — 
he  could  not  forget  the  bond,  all  the  more  as  those  brothers 
of  full  blood  seemed  careless  of  its  claims. 

"Nell  needs  me,"  he  explained  at  last,  "and  the  kids." 

"You  can't  be  doing  for  them  always,"  the  girl  urged, 
practically.  "You've  no  call  to,  as  I  see." 

"No  —  I  suppose  not  — " 

"Mr.  Grant  wanted  you  to  go  out  West." 

"Yes  —  father  thought  I'd  better  strike  out  for  myself." 

"Well,"  the  girl  replied  slowly,  her  quick  mind  working 
upon  this  positive  problem,  "you've  got  your  own  life  to 
live!  Even  if  Nell  were  your  own  sister,  she'd  have  to  manage 
somehow.  She  married  the  man." 

"It's  pretty  hard  on  the  children." 

"They'd  better  come  back  here,"  she  said  firmly,  the  plan 
forming.  "I'll  speak  to  father  about  it.  He  needs  some 
one  in  the  house  besides  me."  Her  idea  developed  into 
pleasant  possibilities.  "Nat'll  never  do  anything  for 
them.  And  she  can  have  a  good  home  for  herself  and  the 
children — " 

"It  might  be  best,  if  Nat  isn't  any  better,"  he  ad 
mitted. 

"Nat!"  the  girl  exclaimed  scornfully.  "I'll  speak  to 
father  about  it  to-night." 

She  smiled  upon  the  youth,  happy  in  the  solution  so  promptly 
found,  a  sense  of  proprietorship  already  sprouting  within  her, 
the  instinct  for  managing  destiny. 

"Then  you'll  be  free  to  do  the  best  you  can,"  she  urged. 
"You  can  go  to  the  City." 

Hugh  gazed  musingly  over  the  level  field,  at  the  further 
end  of  which  the  old  man  was  driving  his  furrow.  The  City! 
The  lure  of  youth,  the  battle  ground  and  the  burial  field,  the 
tournament  and  the  pageant  —  yes,  it  drew  him  as  it  was 


18  A   LIFE  FOR  A   LIFE 

drawing  all  the  strong  youth  of  the  land  It  lay  far  away  to 
the  southward  under  its  smoky  dome,  and  its  very  existence 
below  the  peaceful  horizon  stirred  restlessness  and  desire. 

"Maybe,"  he  admitted.     "I  must  be  going  back  now." 

"Won't  you  stay  to  supper?"  she  urged.  "I'll  drive  you 
down  afterwards." 

"No,  I  can't."  Something  in  him  made  him  eager  to  slip 
the  soft  leash  this  pretty  girl  was  fast  binding  upon  his  will. 
"Not  to-day." 

He  seized  the  upper  bar  of  the  gate  on  which  they  had  been 
leaning. 

"Sunday,  then?"  she  suggested,  and  her  lifted  face  re 
proached  him  for  a  possible  neglect.  He  waited.  Some 
thing  was  due  —  something  born  of  that  vagrant  impulse 
beneath  the  pine.  Clumsily  he  bent  his  head ;  coldly  his  lips 
met  hers  ;  with  hard  eyes  he  looked  into  soft  eyes.  Impulse 
must  be  paid  with  full  measure.  Nevertheless,  the  beast  did 
not  lurk  this  time  behind  the  mask. 

Without  further  word  he  flung  himself  over  the  gate  and  took 
the  road  that  led  towards  the  sea.  The  girl  leaning  by  the 
bar  watched  him  fade  upon  the  road,  then  slowly  turned  in  the 
direction  of  the  farmer,  planning  a  quick  result  for  her  idea. 
The  seed  for  which  she  had  been  waiting  had  dropped  out 
of  the  blue  sky  this  May  day,  and  she  was  prompt  to  make  it 
her  own. 

But  the  youth  tramped  on  his  way,  head  down,  in  gloomy 
understanding  with  himself.  His  feet  were  heavy,  and  he 
walked  slowly.  Where  had  flown  the  vision  of  the  morning 
that  had  flooded  him  with  happiness  at  the  dawning  of  the  sun? 
The  day  was  still  fair,  and  the  familiar  country  sweet  with 
promise.  But  all  the  grandeur  and  the  meaning  and  the  beauty 
—  the  stuff  of  life  —  had  faded  out  of  his  day.  The  melody 
was  gone,  and  in  its  place  was  the  bitter  taste  that  the  girl's 
lips  had  left.  This  day  he  had  held  heaven  in  his  heart  for  a 


THE  MOSSY  ROAD  BENEATH  THE  PINES      19 

time,  and  now  a  heavy  weight  lay  there  instead,  —  truth  re 
vealed  at  the  touch  of  woman ! 

From  the  crest  of  a  round  smooth  hill,  he  saw  the  gleaming 
surface  of  the  sea.  The  waves  broke  in  a  white  line  where  the 
sea  touched  the  sandy  shore  of  an  island.  At  the  bottom  of 
the  hill  the  flat  marshland  began,  smooth  with  tender  grass 
dotted  by  brown  stacks  of  last  year's  hay.  Through  its  wind 
ing  creeks  the  tide  was  threading  inland,  and  a  salty  odor 
came  up  the  hilltop  to  him.  That  breath  of  the  sea  made 
memories  leap  —  it  was  the  travel-scent,  which  swept  him  tow 
ards  the  world  beyond !  Many  a  time  in  his  boyhood  he  had 
come  here,  as  now,  to  look  forth  upon  the  sea  and  wonder. 
Had  he  himself  come  up  from  it,  brought  by  father  or  mother 
across  its  furrowed  reach  from  some  distant  land?  To-day, 
this  very  minute,  he  might  yield  to  its  call,  slip  down  to  the 
port  at  the  river's  mouth,  and  take  ship  for  the  unknown. 

May  Todd,  in  conference  with  her  father,  little  knew  that  she 
had  prepared  the  path  for  such  an  adventure,  that  this  human 
destiny  she  purposed  to  direct  was  so  close  to  an  escape  from 
her  touch.  The  fruit  of  her  counsel  was  dangerous.  .  .  . 

Lingeringly  the  youth  turned  his  back  upon  the  inviting 
sea.  Some  other  day!  For  the  past  still  held  him:  there 
was  the  bond,  not  yet  released. 


Ill 

AGAIN  WOMAN  CROSSES  YOUTH'S  ROAD 

IMPERCEPTIBLY  gray  clouds  had  filmed  the  clear  blue  of 
the  sky,  as  if  a  depth  of  heaven  too  dazzling  for  mortal  eye 
must  be  veiled.  As  Hugh's  steps  approached  the  town,  the 
sky  was  thickly  laced  with  cloud,  and  fitful  gleams  of  a  watery 
sunshine  were  all  that  penetrated  the  western  horizon.  Ab 
sorbed  in  perplexed  consideration,  he  took  no  note  of  the 
weather. 

While  he  was  resting  at  a  cross-roads  before  entering  the 
last  valley,  a  riderless  horse  came  clattering  down  the  road 
from  the  north,  bearing  a  handsome  new  side-saddle.  The 
pace  was  a  leisurely  gallop,  as  though  the  horse,  having  spent 
his  first  mad  impulse,  had  time  to  notice  the  surroundings 
and  enjoy  his  accomplished  freedom.  At  sight  of  the  young 
man  seated  beneath  the  sign-post,  the  runaway  stopped 
short,  snorted,  then  with  delicate  deliberation  prepared  to 
dash  past  this  possible  obstacle  to  his  freedom.  Proclaim 
ing  his  spirit  with  a  wave  of  his  tail,  he  trotted  slowly  for 
ward.  It  was  a  lively,  handsome  beast,  more  playful  than 
wild,  and  the  young  man,  reaching  out  suddenly  his  hand, 
was  lucky  enough  to  catch  the  loose  curb  and  wise  enough 
to  humor  the  captive  by  running  a  few  steps  with  him  until 
he  could  bring  him  to  a  stand.  There  were  angry  glances 
from  the  large  brown  eyes,  but  the  animal  accepted  capture 
with  some  grace. 

"A  fine  beast!"  the  youth  thought,  wondering  whether 
he  could  mount  him  and  thus  ride  back  up  the  north  road 

20 


AGAIN  WOMAN  CROSSES  YOUTH'S  ROAD      21 

until  he  met  the  owner.  But  the  aristocratic  art  of  horse 
manship  not  having  come  within  his  experience,  he  con 
cluded  that  the  safer  course  would  be  to  lead  the  animal. 
Patting  his  smooth  neck,  he  turned  him  around.  The  horse 
examined  his  captor,  snorted  once  or  twice,  then  consented 
to  walk  calmly  by  the  youth's  side.  A  short  space  up  the 
road,  SHE  was  discovered,  sitting  meditatively  on  a  boulder, 
staring  at  the  landscape  and  occasionally  poking  her  riding 
whip  through  a  large  rent  in  her  broadcloth  skirt. 

"So  you  caught  him!"  she  cried  joyfully,  as  Hugh  ap 
proached  with  her  horse.  "The  last  I  saw  of  him,  he  was 
going  as  if  he  did  not  mean  to  pull  up  this  season.  Oh,  you 
tricky  beast!"  She  rubbed  the  horse's  muzzle  with  the  tip 
of  her  whip.  His  large  brown  eyes  winked  before  her  re 
buke.  To  the  youth  she  turned  with  a  swift  glance  of  ex 
amination, —  "However  did  you  get  him?" 

"He  came  along  where  I  was  sitting,  and  I  just  put  out  a 
hand." 

She  laughed  at  this  simple  tale,  and  looked  at  the  stranger 
frankly,  with  no  self-consciousness  or  trace  of  feminine 
manoeuvre.  And  he  looked  back  at  her  with  keen 
interest. 

She  was  nearly  of  his  height,  but  youthfully  slight.  Her 
face  was  regular  and  large,  indicating  a  coming  development 
of  the  woman,  and  was  firmly  defined  by  the  line  of  brow 
and  chin  and  nose.  Her  hair  had  a  dark  gold  edge  to  the 
curling  clusters,  almost  bronze  in  tone,  and  the  thick  eye 
lashes  were  of  the  same  color.  She  was  of  his  age  and  May 
Todd's,  he  judged,  but  she  had  an  older  air  than  the  farmer's 
daughter,  though  less  flowered  and  more  finely  made.  In 
spite  of  the  ugly  riding  costume,  which  did  its  best  to  dis 
guise  whatever  girlish  grace  there  was,  she  gave  forth  a 
special  atmosphere  of  one  with  a  distinct  background.  The 
youth,  having  scant  experience  of  social  differences,  felt  this 


22  A   LIFE  FOR  A   LIFE 

special  quality  in  the  girl  of  something  nurtured,  rare,  adorned. 
It  lay  in  her  controlled  voice,  her  free  movements,  her  direct, 
unconscious  glance. 

The  smiling  lips  revealed  her  perfect  teeth,  firm,  polished, 
regular,  as  if  they,  like  everything  that  touched  her  person, 
had  been  the  subject  of  a  minute  care  and  perfect  skill.  About 
her  neck  was  twisted  a  chain  of  fine-threaded  gold,  —  a  child's 
ornament,  —  yet,  like  the  girl  herself,  rich  and  delicate  in 
mesh  and  pattern,  as  though  selected  from  a  multitude  of 
costly  toys  for  one  who  had  privilege  of  choice  in  all  material 
things.  Insensibly  the  youth  beholding  her  knew  that  she 
came  of  a  different  world  from  his,  —  a  world  richer,  freer, 
more  privileged.  His  eyes  went  from  the  yellow  band  about 
the  small  white  neck  —  symbol  of  human  pride  —  to  the  deep 
blue  eyes  set  beneath  perfectly  curving  brows.  The  eyes 
were  pleasant  and  kind. 

"You  like  horses?"  she  suggested,  by  way  of  filling  the 
^awkward  pause,  while  she  still  rubbed  the  beast's  muzzle. 
The  horse,  like  its  mistress,  was  carefully  groomed  and  cared 
for,  —  a  smart  animal  kept  for  pleasure.  Hugh  suddenly 
felt  conscious  of  his  slouchy,  wrinkled,  ill-fitting  clothes  and 
his  unpolished  boots. 

"I  don't  have  much  to  do  with  horses,"  he  replied.  "I 
used  to  when  I  was  a  boy  —  farm  horses,"  he  added,  with  an 
awkward  laugh.  "They  were  not  much  like  him!" 

"Max  is  a  beauty!" 

"Can  I  help  you  get  on?" 

She  pointed  to  the  large  rent  in  her  skirt. 

"I  couldn't  ride  with  that  skirt!  It  can't  be  far  to  the 
town  from  here,  is  it?" 

"No  —  shall  I  show  you  the  way?" 

He  led  the  horse  while  she  wrapped  her  torn  skirt  about 
her,  and  in  this  fashion  they  proceeded  towards  the  town. 
The  intelligent  animal  glanced  from  one  to  the  other,  as  if 


AGAIN   WOMAN   CROSSES  YOUTH'S  ROAD      23 

puzzled  by  the  catenation  of  circumstances  for  which  he 
was  responsible.  The  girl  explained :  — 

"I  wanted  to  see  the  game  at  the  Academy  this  afternoon, 
and  thought  I  would  ride  over.  I  had  no  business  to  take 
Max,  —  he's  father's  special  mount,  —  but  my  horse  was 
lame.  Father  was  away,  and  Max  hadn't  been  out  for  a 
week.  I  couldn't  hold  him!" 

" Did  he  hurt  you?" 

"Not  a  bit!  Max  just  bore  with  me  and  the  hateful  side 
saddle  as  long  as  he  could,  then  up  with  his  forefeet,  deposited 
me  carefully  on  the  road,  looked  around  to  see  if  all  was 
right,  and  scuttled  off  like  mad  downhill.  You  see,  I  forgot 
to  put  on  the  martingale,  or  he  couldn't  have  done  it!" 

They  laughed  at  the  story  together.  Hugh  marvelled  at 
the  magic  which  had  created  at  once  so  simple  and  friendly 
an  atmosphere  between  them.  For  girls  as  he  had  known 
them  were  either  shy  or  bold. 

"Don't  you  ride?"  she  asked,  with  another  glance  at  his 
strong  young  figure.  His  curt  "no"  seemed  to  say,  "Can't 
you  see  that  I  am  not  likely  to  have  saddle  horses  for 
my  pleasure?"  And  reading  the  tone,  she  softened  him 
easily,  "You  ought  to  try  it  —  it's  the  best  sport  in  the 
world." 

The  simple  remark  led  the  youth  to  reflect  that  this 
young  girl,  whom  chance  had  brought  across  his  path  at  the 
close  of  the  day,  was  of  those  who  considered  "sport"  seri 
ously,  —  for  whom  life  was  a  more  or  less  ordered  diversion. 
She  had  thrown  herself  on  horseback  to  ride  a  half  score  of 
miles  that  she  might  see  a  game  of  baseball.  .  .  . 

In  their  approach  to  the  town  they  passed  the  mill,  and 
the  urchins  playing  in  the  street  before  the  tenements  jeered 
at  them,  and  the  bolder  ones  threw  stones,  which  rattled 
harmlessly  behind  them. 

"Little  rats!"  the  girl  exclaimed,  with  perfect  goodnature, 


24  A   LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

"I  wonder  why  they  always  raise  a  hand  against  any  one  on 
horseback." 

"Perhaps  because  their  ancestors  were  often  ridden  down 
by  men  on  horseback,"  Hugh  replied,  with  unexpected  quickness. 
He  felt  suddenly  a  kinship  with  these  "little  rats." 

"You  think  that's  the  reason?  They  must  make  mistakes 
sometimes  in  their  victims,"  the  girl  replied  tranquilly,  ignoring 
the  vehemence  of  his  retort. 

A  little  way  beyond  the  mill  lay  the  grounds  of  the  old  Acad 
emy.  They  turned  in  at  the  stone  gate  Hugh  still  leading 
the  horse. 


IV 

THE    BATTLE    TO    THE    STRONG 

THE  Academy  was  a  famous  old  school,  antedating  the  mill 
by  half  a  century,  which  had  fallen  into  decay  before  the  ad 
vance  of  more  democratic  education,  but  latterly  had  been 
revived  under  a  new  " English"  management,  with  fresh  glories 
of  another  order  than  its  ancient  prestige  —  chiefly  athletic 
and  social.  As  such  it  had  little  in  common  with  the  dingy 
town,  which  was  wholly  centred  in  the  mill.  The  main  build 
ing  that  still  survived  the  changes,  an  old  stone  mansion,  sur 
mounted  a  little  hill  at  the  end  of  a  drive  between  two  rows 
of  horse-chestnut  trees,  and  behind  it  in  the  meadow  along 
the  river  was  the  athletic  field,  where  a  game  of  baseball  was 
now  in  progress  between  the  Academy  team  and  the  school 
team  of  the  town. 

As  the  two  entered  the  drive  from  the  dusty  highroad,  the 
setting  sun  had  contrived  to  pierce  the  filmy  veil  of  clouds 
and  shot  a  mellow  light  upon  the  smooth  sward  of  the  meadow 
beside  the  river.  Through  the  large  trees,  already  thick  with 
foliage,  something  of  the  dingy  town  crowned  by  the  lofty 
brick  chimney  of  the  mill  with  its  plume  of  black  smoke  could 
be  seen,  —  close  at  hand,  yet  removed  from  the  seclusion  and 
repose  of  the  athletic  field.  \There  the  game  was  set,  and  a 
little  group  of  spectators  were  gathered  about  the  lines,  i 

It  was  a  scene  that  the  youth  was  to  remember  long.  Many 
a  time  in  the  years  to  follow  it  would  flash  back  into  his  mind 
at  unexpected  moments,  bffering  a  complete  symbol  of  that 
larger  world  where  he  found  himself/  The  memory  of  it  be- 

25 


26  A   LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

came  all  the  more  vivid  because  of  this  girl,  whom  fate  had 
associated  with  him.  She  led  the  way  to  the  group  about  the 
Master,  —  a  tall,  florid  man  in  tweed  knickerbockers,  smiling 
encouragement  to  his  boys.  On  the  other  side  of  the  diamond 
were  a  few  friends  of  the  town  team,  who  had  loafed  into  the 
grounds  to  see  "our  boys  lick  the  Academy  swells."  There 
was  nothing  intentional  in  this  partition  of  the  classes.  The 
old  school  had  been  eminently  democratic,  and  the  new  Mas 
ter  had  much  to  say  in  his  prospectus  in  praise  of  the  demo 
cratic  spirit.  Nevertheless,  Hugh  Grant,  standing  with  the 
girl  not  far  from  the  Master  and  looking  across  to  familiar  faces 
on  the  other  side,  was  conscious  of  being  misplaced. 

"That's  my  brother  Morris!"  the  girl  exclaimed,  pointing 
out  a  lank  boy  in  the  field  who  wore  glasses.  "Too  bad/' 
she  murmured  with  vexation,  as  the  youth  missed  an  easy  ball, 
and  fumbled  awkwardly  about  his  feet.  "  He's  too  near-sighted 
to  play  —  and  he  doesn't  care  for  sport.  Aleck  —  he's  my 
older  brother  —  was  captain  of  his  college  team." 

A  contemptuous  laugh  had  risen  from  the  town  side  of  the 
field  at  Morris's  clumsy  efforts. 

"What  a  rabble!  Canaille!''  She  threw  a  deal  of  scorn 
into  the  foreign  word,  and  her  pretty  lips  curved  in  disdain. 
Hugh  had  been  inclined  to  laugh  at  the  lad's  clumsy  antics, 
and  looked  his  surprise. 

A  youth  on  the  Academy  team  leaped  high  in  the  air  and 
intercepted  Morris's  wild  throw. 

"Bravo!  Well  played!"  She  clapped  her  hands  and 
demanded,  "Do  you  know  who  he  is?" 

"It's  Jack  Nevins  —  his  father  is  superintendent  of  the 
mill,"  Hugh  explained.  He  felt  that  young  Nevins,  purely 
a  town  product,  was  something  of  a  renegade  to  play  on  the 
Academy  team. 

"He  knows  how  to  play!"  the  girl  remarked  admiringly. 
She  followed  the  fortunes  of  the  game,  absorbed  in  it,  skilled 


THE  BATTLE  TO  THE   STRONG  27 

in  its  points,  applauding  and  criticising  individual  plays  with 
an  expert  air.  Presently  Hugh's  attention  was  distracted 
by  the  sight  of  old  Todd's  covered  buggy,  drawn  by  one  of 
the  big  grays,  which  had  stopped  close  to  the  fence.  From 
where  he  stood  Hugh  could  plainly  see  that  one  of  the  two 
girls  in  the  buggy  was  May,  hatless,  dressed  in  puffy,  starchy 
white.  She  was  scanning  the  field  closely,  and  Hugh  felt 
that  he  ought  to  leave  his  companion  and  go  to  her.  But  he 
stayed.  Soon  the  buggy  turned  back  to  the  gate  and  came 
in  down  the  drive  towards  the  game.  As  it  skirted  the 
field,  it  passed  Hugh  and  the  girl,  and  May  gazed  steadily 
at  the  two  together  beside  the  horse.  She  leaned  from  the 
buggy,  bowed  elaborately,  and,  still  looking,  drove  slowly 
around  to  the  town  side,  where  she  established  herself  in  plain 
eyeshot  of  the  two  opposite.  Hugh  reddened,  but  he  held 
his  place.  The  look  and  the  bow  had  not  been  lost  by  the 
girl  at  his  side.  She  saw  his  blush,  and  she  knew  with  a 
telepathic  feminine  assurance  that  there  was  something 
between  these  two. 

"A  relative  of  mine,"  Hugh  felt  compelled  to  explain. 

"Oh,"  the  girl  replied,  in  a  tone  of  polite  aloofness,  and 
added  after  a  moment  of  consideration,  "A  very  pretty 
girl!" 

Then  her  attention  was  called  back  to  the  game. 

"That  was  unfair  I  He  didn't  touch  him.  Oh,  low  — 
shame!"  she  called  quite  audibly.  "The  umpire  couldn't 
see,"  she  explained  to  Hugh.  "They  ought  to  make  thosr 
fellows  play  fair  —  teach  them  to  be  good  sports." 

Hugh   resented   the    condescension   in   the   tone   towai  , 
"those  fellows."     At  the  moment  he  saw  nothing  very  i. 
portant  in  the  trick  of  the  baseman.     Some  day  he 


learn  that  to  play  fair  was  a  class  ideal  —  in  sport,  and  the:."' 
he  would  recall  the  phrase  with  ironical  mirth,  knowing  ho\\ 
little  of  this  ideal  there  was  in  the  weightier  matters  of  life. 


28  A  LIFE  FOR  A   LIFE 

"Squabbling  as  usual,"  was  the  next  comment  that  Hugh 
caught.  "They  don't  know  how  to  take  their  medicine  — 
no  sand.  That's  the  way  their  kind  always  do  when  they 
lose  —  scrap !" 

Here  was  another  ideal,  also  phrased  irritatingly  hi  a 
superior  tone.  "Taking  your  medicine,"  as  well  as  "play 
ing  fair,"  was  a  shibboleth  of  the  "other  sort."  And  some 
day  he  would  learn  how  precious  is  the  possession  of  any 
ideal,  in  sport  or  life,  a  kind  of  religious  support,  especially 
to  those  who  are  engaged  in  breaking  other  ideals  that  do 
not  happen  to  appeal  to  them. 

"You  don't  seem  to  care  for  the  game,"  she  observed  after 
a  time,  curiosity  and  scorn  mingled  in  her  tone. 

"Not  much,"  he  confessed. 

"Don't  you  play?" 

"I  used  to  a  little  in  the  country  when  I  was  a  boy." 

He  recalled  the  squabbles,  the  petty  tricks  of  the  village 
boys,  the  quite  unsportsmanlike  nature  of  their  sports. 
What  would  this  young  aristocrat  think  of  their  manners! 

The  girl's  eyes  were  fastened   once   more  on  the  game. 

"Pretty!  Oh,  pretty!"  She  was  waving  her  hands  ex 
citedly  as  young  Nevins,  having  placed  a  long,  low,  clean  ball 
through  the  centre  of  the  town's  weak  field,  was  taking  ad 
vantage  of  his  hit  in  a  breathless  race  around  the  bases. 

"A  home  run!  Oh!  They'll  beat  'em  yet  in  spite  of 
their  tricks."  This  last,  Hugh  felt,  was  aimed  at  him  as  a 
inspected  sympathizer  with  the  "mob."  He  patted  the 
dorse,  who  stared  at  the  game  in  stolid  indifference,  mildly 

?king  an  ear  at  the  clamor  over  the  successful  play.     The 
m'l  eyed  them  both  with  a  disdainful  smile, 
a  "You  don't  care  any  more  than  Max  which  side  wins!" 
2  What  kind  of  youth  was  this  who  lacked  the  sense  for 
sport?    Not  a  weakling  by  appearance,  nor  a  coward  surely! 

"Perhaps  you  would  like  to  join  your  friend?"    she  sug- 


THE  BATTLE  TO  THE   STRONG  29 

gested  in  dainty  malice.  "I  can  take  care  of  Max  —  he's 
quiet  enough  now." 

Hugh  smiled  at  the  dart,  and  did  not  relinquish  the  rein 
he  held.  He  was  conscious  that  May  awaited  him;  her 
eyes  had  not  left  them  all  this  time.  But  he  had  no  mind 
to  go  to  her.  And  when  presently  the  farmer's  buggy  turned 
and  slowly  made  its  way  back  to  the  drive,  he  did  not  lift 
his  eyes.  There  was  something  in  this  girl  by  his  side,  the 
chance  companion  of  the  day,  that  held  him  fast.  Yet  her 
every  word  and  gesture  stirred  unwonted  prejudices. 

"No,  I  don't  care  which  side  wins,"  he  admitted,  at  an 
other  outburst  of  applause.  "It  doesn't  make  any  great 
difference,  does  it?" 

The  girl  threw  him  a  cold  glance.  No  difference  which 
side  won,  and  her  side  gaining  in  spite  of  the  mean  tricks 
of  the  commonalty!  She  did  not  deign  to  answer. 

"Oh,  see  there!"  she  cried,  as  Nevins  again  distinguished 
himself  by  striking  out  the  third  one  of  the  town  team. 
"That  Nevins  is  most  as  good  as  Aleck.  I'd  like  to  know 
him.  He's  such  a  good  sport!" 

There,  the  youth  felt  instinctively,  was  the  woman  atti 
tude  toward  the  whole  affair.  The  game  was  a  mimic 
struggle  in  which  the  strong  triumphed,  to  be  rewarded  by 
her  applause,  her  favor.  For  the  moment  he  envied  Jack 
Nevins,  who  at  the  Master's  tea  after  the  game  would  receive 
the  girl's  homage.  If  the  youth  had  known  it,  he  would 
have  realized  the  centuries  of  tradition  expressed  in  this 
trivial  incident :  the  woman  an  eager  spectator  while  the  young 
males  fought  for  supremacy.  She  would  reward  the  victor 
—  that  strong  one  —  who  had  the  might  to  capture  her,  to 
protect  her  against  the  others.  This  game  was  but  a  petty 
imitation  of  universal  strife,  —  a  training  for  the  struggle, 
the  tricks,  the  gore,  that  must  be  met  in  the  more  deadly 
battle  for  existence.  This  delicate  girl  by  his  side  knew  to 


30  A  LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

the  full  what  victory  meant.  Her  girlish  admiration  of  the 
successful  Nevins  was  woman's  fated  attitude  to  man:  she 
stood  beside  the  arena,  observing  the  struggle,  ready  to 
reward  with  her  graces  that  Male  who  was  strong  enough  to 
triumph!  .  .  . 

The  youth's  eyes  were  troubled  with  these  perceptions. 
Across  the  scene  of  the  mimic  battle  rose  the  vision  that 
had  come  to  him  at  dawn,  sung  to  him  by  the  cracked  chimes, 
—  the  vision  pursued  over  the  hills  along  the  beautiful  morn 
ing  road  toward  the  wonderful,  glittering  sea.  And  the 
harmony  and  significance  of  that  radiant  inner  vision,  in 
which  there  were  deeds  without  strife,  triumph  without  defeat, 
made  him  deny  the  girl's  appeal.  .  .  . 

Meanwhile  the  town  team  was  sullenly  taking  its  place  at 
the  bat  to  play  out  the  final  inning  of  the  game. 

" They're  well  licked  already,  and  they  know  it!"  the  girl 
remarked  complacently.  Hugh  merely  smiled  in  reply. 
Even  in  this  small  matter  of  a  boy's  game  the  note  of  triumph 
in  her  voice  sounded  hard  and  savage.  He  stroked  the 
horse's  glossy  neck. 

"You  must  be  a  good  loser,"  she  counselled,  —  another 
shibboleth  of  her  class,  galling  to  the  youth! 

"But  I  don't  care  a  straw  which  side  wins!" 

The  girl's  eyes  contracted  before  the  careless  contempt 
in  his  tone. 

"It's  just  foolish,"  he  added,  well  aware  that  this  failed 
to  express  his  mixed  feelings. 

"Foolish?" 

"To  care  so  much  for  a  game!" 

"It's  like  life,"  she  retorted  sagely,  copying  the  words  of 
her  elders.  "You  have  always  got  to  go  in  for  things  to  win." 

"Win  what?" 

"Anything  —  everything  worth  while!"  She  gave  him 
another  superior  look. 


THE  BATTLE  TO  THE  STRONG      31 

Hugh  could  not  phrase  his  reply.  He  thought  of  other 
motives,  —  the  hard  push  against  circumstance,  the  steady 
effort,  the  straight  furrow,  the  sense  of  power  and  peace  that 
came  with  work  well  performed.  Even  in  his  little  life  he 
had  had  some  taste  of  these.  But  that  was  not  what  the 
girl  meant  by  triumph. 

"  You'll  see  when  you  get  out  into  the  world.  Father 
says  so.  It's  the  men  who  fight  hard  who  do  things  in  the 
City,  just  as  in  games.  You've  got  to  win  if  you  want  to 
amount  to  anything." 

"You've  got  to  work,  of  course,"  he  protested. 

"To  win,"  she  amended. 

To  win  her,  at  least,  a  man  must  triumph,  he  under 
stood. 

Their  attention  was  caught  by  two  small  boys  who  had 
come  to  blows  and  were  tumbling  over  their  feet  in  a  scrim 
mage  of  their  own.  One  little  chap  of  eight  or  nine  was 
sobbing  and  striking  out  in  mad,  ineffective  rage,  while  the 
other,  with  admirable  self-possession  and  cool  judgment, 
punched  his  foe  in  the  vulnerable  spots,  and  finally  knocked 
him  into  a  heap  beneath  the  horse's  head.  Then  the  victor 
proceeded  to  kick  his  prostrate  enemy  while  the  other  gasped 
and  roared  in  anger  and  pain.  Max  looked  at  the  two  with 
wondering  eyes. 

"Here!"  the  girl  with  Hugh  exclaimed,  darting  forward 
and  grasping  the  small  conqueror  by  his  shirt  collar.  "You 
mustn't  kick  him  like  that  —  not  when  he's  down." 

Hugh  lifted  the  vanquished  to  his  feet. 

"What's  the  matter,  Joe?" 

"He  hit  me  first,"  the  small  victor  shouted,  struggling  to 
escape  from  the  girl's  firm  grasp.  "And  I'll  smash  in  his 
face  for  him." 

"All  right!  But  with  your  fists,  remember,  you  little 
brute,"  the  girl  admonished,  laughing.  "Don't  snivel  like 


32  A   LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

that!"  she  counselled  the  other,  who  was  still  bellowing  in 
articulately.  "He  hasn't  killed  you,  baby." 

"What's  the  matter,  Joe?"  Hugh  demanded  gently. 

"Ah  —  he  ain't  no  good  —  nothin'  but  a  cry-baby!"  the 
successful  young  savage  jeered,  confident  of  the  girl's  sym 
pathy,  in  spite  of  her  reproof.  "He  don't  know  how  to  fight 
—  look  at  him!" 

And  flattered  by  the  attention  of  the  grown  people,  who 
at  the  close  of  the  ball  game  were  surrounding  them,  he  made 
bold  feints  at  the  nose  of  his  antagonist.  * 

"Be  still!"  Hugh  commanded. 

"Hello,  Alexandra!"  the  fumbling  lad  in  glasses,  who  had 
come  up  with  the  others,  called  out  to  the  girl.  "What  are 
you  doing  here  —  fight,  is  it?" 

Hugh,  unable  to  quiet  his  small  boy,  said  to  the  girl, 
"Please  take  the  horse,"  and  he  held  out  the  bridle. 

"Morris,  take  Max,  will  you,  while  I  try  to  keep  this  young 
man-eater  from  chewing  up  the  baby  over  there." 

At  the  sneer,  Hugh  lifted  his  small  boy  from  the  ground, 
folded  him  in  his  arms,  and  strode  away  without  a  word. 
He  set  the  little  fellow  down  beyond  the  crowd,  and  asked 
gently :  — 

"What's  the  matter,  Joe?  What  were  you  and  Dan  fight 
ing  about?" 

Little  Joe  on  his  feet,  hand  in  hand  with  Uncle  Hugh, 
did  not  seem  an  altogether  despicable  small  male,  or  one 
unable  to  defend  himself.  But  instead  of  replying  he  gave 
another  gasping  sob,  and  Hugh  forbore  to  press  the  ques 
tion.  They  walked  across  the  field  silently  until  only  the 
tear-stained  face  reflected  the  spent  storm.  Then  Joe 
volunteered :  — 

"Dan  called  father  names,  said  he  didn't  pay  his  grocer 
bill,  and  —  and  lots  of  things.  I  hit  him!"  Joe  gasped  at 
the  memory  of  the  insult. 


THE  BATTLE  TO  THE  STRONG  33 

"Never  mind,"  Hugh  replied,  tightening  his  grip  upon 
the  small  hand.  "It's  none  of  Dan's  business.  I'll  take 
you  fishin'  next  Sunday,"  he  added,  illogically,  and  the 
small  Joe  trudged  on  without  another  gasp.  .  .  . 

As  they  passed  the  stone  mansion,  Hugh  perceived  the 
girl  with  the  horse,  surrounded  by  the  victorious  team, 
talking  to  Jack  Nevins.  They  were  on  their  way  to  the 
Master's  rooms,  where  they  were  to  receive  tea  and  cake  and 
congratulations.  The  girl,  at  sight  of  Hugh,  ran  down  the 
steps  and  held  out  a  hand  to  the  youth.  "Thank  you!" 
she  said,  with  her  ready  smile.  "  Good-by,"  —  and  then,  after 
a  pause,  with  a  touch  of  daring,  —  "I  hope  some  day  you'll 
win!  Then  you'll  know  what  a  good  fight  means." 

Hugh  reddened,  and  without  a  word  hurried  down  the 
drive,  the  small  Joe  trotting  by  his  side. 


IN  THE   NIGHT   COMES   RESOLVE 

HE  suspected  the  cause  in  the  first  sob  that  little  Joe 
had  given,  knowing  well  the  brutality  of  tiny  youth  with 
youth.  Small  Joe's  deepest  feeling  —  his  pride  and  his 
loyalty  to  his  father  —  had  been  hurt.  Hugh  realized  also 
the  uselessness  of  spoken  consolation,  because  he  knew  and 
the  child  knew  and  everybody  in  their  small  corner  of  the 
world  knew  that  the  facts  were  as  the  youthful  Dan  Stott 

—  the  grocer's  son  —  had  said  in  taunt.     Joe's  father  was 
a  poor  lot,  and  among  other  failings  he  rarely  paid  a  debt. 

Also  Hugh  realized  that  it  was  futile  to  try  to  relieve  the 
pain  coming  to  this  small  organism  in  the  social  world  by 
promise  of  fishing  trips.  The  time  must  come  —  and  soon 

—  when  the  boy  would  be  hardened  to  his  lot,  and  worse  — 
indifferent.     But   Hugh,    divining   the   state   of   the   child's 
mind,  was  sad  at  heart  because  of  that  callousing  that  must 
come  to  this  small  soul,  and  as  he   walked  homewards  down 
the  dusty  street  he  resented  the  attitude  of  the  strange  girl, 

—  that    "Alexandra,"   who   had   despised   Joe   for   being   a 
coward.     Dan  Stott  would  not  have  wept  if  Joe  had  reviled 
his  father  for  selling  poisonous  food.     He  would  straightway 
have  "punched  the  face  off"  the  family  detractor,  and  the 
girl  would  have  thought  that   admirable!     Hugh   clutched 
the  small  hand  firmly,  more  than  woman  tender  in  his  desire 
to  protect  the  little  fellow  from  the  inevitable  blows  of  his 
human  destiny.  .  .  . 

"Dad  home?"  he  asked,  when  they  passed  the  prosperous 

34 


IN  THE  NIGHT   COMES   RESOLVE  35 

establishment  of  the  triumphant  Dan's  father  and  turned  into 
their  street. 

"No  —  mother's  out  looking  for  him." 

As  they  passed  the  church,  the  cracked  chimes  were  ringing 
a  doleful  evensong,  in  harmony  with  the  gray  twilight  settling 
down  upon  the  mill  town.  The  church  doors  were  open, 
and  St.  Luke's  was  offering  its  consolation  to  such  souls  as 
sought  it.  The  young  rector,  in  spotless  black  and  white,  hur 
rying  to  perform  his  function,  nodded  to  Hugh  with  the  uncer 
tain  recognition  he  gave  to  those  not  of  his  flock.  The  youth 
irritably  hastened  his  steps  and  shut  the  noise  of  the  bells 
from  his  soul.  This  was  not  a  world  of  abnegation.  The 
girl  was  right!  The  game  and  the  small  boys'  fight  were 
symbols  of  its  eternal  laws.  This  wide  space  had  crept 
between  the  dawn's  vision  and  the  twilight  reality.  Not 
merely  the  space  of  trodden  miles,  but  the  space  of  feelings 
and  impulses.  At  dawn  the  chimes  had  sounded  a  noble 
peal  of  great  deeds  and  beautiful  living,  the  colored  hopes 
of  youth.  At  twilight  the  cracked  bells  announced  the  dismal 
discord  of  fact  with  vision.  .  .  . 

"There's  mother!"  Joe  exclaimed,  pointing  to  the  limp 
figure  leaning  over  the  picket  gate.  "Father  can't  be  back 

yet." 

The  woman  followed  the  youth  into  the  house,  and  shutting 
the  dining-room  door  upon  the  children,  pointed  tragically 
to  the  bare  table. 

"He  hasn't  given  me  any  money  for  weeks.  And  now 
there's  nothing  to  eat  in  the  house." 

Nellie  had  once  been  fair  like  May,  Hugh  remembered, 
plump  and  of  an  early  bloom.  Now  she  was  sallow  and 
somewhat  gaunt,  and  careless,  like  her  house.  Well,  as 
May  had  said,  she  had  taken  her  desire  when  it  came.  .  .  . 
He  waited,  as  was  his  habit,  for  the  flood  to  spend  itself. 

"Nat  didn't  leave  me  a  cent  this  time.     And  he  hasn't 


36  A  LIFE  FOR  A   LIFE 

paid  the  store  for  months.  I'm  ashamed  to  send  the  children 
there  any  more." 

Hugh  nodded. 

"He's  gone  to  the  City,  most  likely,"  —  and  her  voice  rose 
bitterly,  —  "  with  some  woman!  I  know  it." 

The  youth's  head  drooped.  Fumbling  in  his  pockets,  he 
drew  forth  a  crumpled  bill. 

"Here's  something,  Nell.     Send  Joe  out  for  supper." 

She  took  the  money  from  him  reluctantly,  as  she  had  taken 
it  before  in  urgent  need. 

"It's  too  bad,"  she  murmured,  "taking  your  money." 

Her  own  brothers  had  not  come  to  her  aid,  and  Hugh  was 
but  a  youth  just  beginning  to  earn. 

"Get  the  children  some  supper,"  he  urged.  "I'll  be  making 
more  money  soon  —  I  must!" 

And  as  he  went  to  his  room  he  regretted  the  idle  day  spent 
wantoning  in  dreams,  instead  of  earning  another  much-needed 
dollar.  Nat  would  let  him  —  any  one  —  carry  his  burdens, 
as  long  as  he  would.  It  was  the  man's  nature,  so  obviously, 
so  humanly  delinquent  in  this  world  of  duty. 

But  Nellie  had  wanted  him,  had  plotted  her  girlish  best  to 
ensnare  him  with  her  bloom  and  her  vivacity.  Her  father 
had  warned  her  in  vain  against  the  idle  "spender"  from  the 
town.  She  had  borne  three  children,  —  one  had  died,  —  and 
then  the  woman's  feeble  hold  on  the  nature  of  this  male  she 
had  desired  had  loosened.  Excuses,  subterfuges,  mean  eva 
sions,  quarrels,  the  youth  knew  all  the  sordid  story.  In 
deed,  the  delinquent's  errant  footsteps  had  been  plain  to  him 
long  before  the  wife  had  been  willing  to  note  them.  And  now 
in  the  inevitable  struggle  with  her  provider  she  was  failing, 
the  slack,  self-indulgent  woman  who  remembered  she  had. 
once  been  pretty  and  could  wheedle  her  male. 

"If  he  goes  on  like  this,  I'll  get  a  divorce,"  Nellie  would 
bluster  at  first. 


IN  THE  NIGHT   COMES  RESOLVE  37 

But  the  youth  knew  the  outcome:  return  of  the  prodigal, 
storm,  reproach,  then  acceptance,  and  the  flare  of  the  flick 
ering  flame  of  passion,  sad  sensuality  of  the  coupled  two! 
until  the  crest  of  the  wave  passed  into  the  trough  again. 
There  would  be  more  trough  and  less  crest.  Such  was  the 
law. 

He  must  get  away  from  it.  An  arrogant  will  to  take  his 
own  possessed  him. 

The  drone  of  the  rector's  voice  came  through  the  open 
window.  "  In  my  father's  house  are  many  mansions :  I  go  to 
prepare  a  place  for  you."  Those  words  which  had  had  the 
magic  of  comfort  for  multitudes  merely  irritated  the  youth. 
He  closed  the  window  and  flung  himself  on  his  unmade  bed. 
The  house  smelled  of  disintegration.  And  the  thought  of 
the  girl  at  the  game  came  back  once  more.  He  saw  the 
athletic  field  beside  the  river,  and  the  meaning  of  the  childish 
struggle  there  shone  bright.  Life  was  a  game  for  the  prizes. 
"The  best  man  wins!"  the  girl  had  said,  smiling  with  sug 
gestion  in  her  eyes.  It  was  a  word  of  truth.  His  heart 
leaped  at  the  thought  of  gathering  his  prize  in  the  great 
arena.  At  last  the  male  will  to  prevail  was  roused  in  the  youth. 

His  door  opened,  and  Nellie  came  panting  with  a  tray  of 
food. 

"Nell,"  he  said,  putting  the  food  aside,  "I'm  going  to  the 
City!" 

"When?" 

"To-morrow!" 

She  looked  at  him  in  troubled  silence,  and  he  felt  her 
unspoken  reproach  for  his  desertion.  And  the  children, 
little  Joe  and  Eve,  whose  rightful  heritage  of  love  and  respect 
and  trust  had  been  taken  from  them  by  their  ill-living  par 
ents,  —  he  was  deserting  them  as  well.  He  said  quickly :  — 

"I'll  earn  more  money,  and  then  I  can  do  something  for 
you  and  the  children." 


38  A  LIFE  FOR  A   LIFE 

It  was  the  insidious  argument  of  self,  —  the  half  truth 
that  blinded  the  eyes,  —  and  he  knew  it  dimly.  But  his 
mind  was  set. 

"I  supposed  you'd  go  sometime,"  she  sighed. 

"It's  time  now!"  he  urged. 

"Father  always  said  you  must  go.  Perhaps  you'll  strike 
it  rich  in  the  City!" 

The  iridescent  dream  of  wealth  shone  in  the  woman's 
eyes. 

"Perhaps!"  and  after  further  consideration  he  asked, 
"What'll  you  do,  Nell?  May  thought  her  father  would 
take  you  and  the  children." 

Nell's  sallow  face  reddened  at  this  blow  to  her  pride,  but 
she  replied  bravely :  — 

"Yes;  May  was  here  this  afternoon  and  said  something 
about  our  going  there.  She  expects  to  be  away  in  the  fall." 

"That's  good!" 

"Anyway,  you  must  go,"  she  urged,  with  unexpected  gen 
erosity  and  courage.  "You've  got  your  own  life  to  lead,  and 
we  mustn't  stand  in  your  way."  For  even  Nellie  held  this 
common  philosophy!  "Oh,"  she  added,  feeling  in  her  pocket, 
"May  came  back  again  and  left  this."  She  handed  him  a 
crumpled  card,  on  which  was  scrawled  in  pencil,  "You 
needn't  come  out  Sunday."  Hugh  read  the  words  with  a 
puzzled  frown.  He  had  forgotten  the  mossy  road  behind 
the  old  mill,  the  farmer's  daughter,  and  all!  Tearing  the 
card  in  two,  he  smiled  grimly. 

"I  hope  you'll  make  a  big  success,  Hugh!  You  ought  to," 
Nell  said. 

"I'll  take  my  chance." 


THE   CITY 


I 

THE   BRIDGE 

HE  came  to  the  end  of  his  journey  as  night  was  falling. 

There  it  lay,  the  great  City  of  men,  beneath  a  soft  canopy 
of  diffused  light  upon  the  southern  horizon.  Long  he  watched 
the  illumined  heavens  with  greedy  eyes,  as  the  train,  crying 
shrilly,  rushed  through  the  empty  stillness  of  the  summer  night. 
That  distant  sky  seemed  radiant  with  earth-born  fires,  softly 
transfused  in  the  upper  ether  to  heavenly  beauty.  Beneath, 
the  great  City  pulsed  like  a  monstrous  creature,  breathing 
forth  this  phosphorescent  glow  upon  the  sky. 

His  heart  beat  quickly  in  unaccustomed  tumult. 

Nearer  and  nearer  the  creature  came  as  the  train  penetrated 
the  peopled  fringe,  where  long  lines  of  dotted  light  stretched 
forth  to  the  silent  country,  until  at  last  the  radiance  of  the 
heavens  melted  into  the  glare  of  the  City  itself.  The  monster 
murmur  of  its  voice  filled  his  expectant  ears.  It  was  the  City! 

Time  with  its  orderly  hand  touched  that  first  blur  of  im 
pressions  and  memories,  erasing  most,  transforming,  vivifying 
high  points  of  experience,  until  a  picture  was  left  in  large  out 
lines,  gleaming  here  and  there  with  significant  light,  in  which 
the  trivial  and  the  important  were  blended.  Thus,  first  of  all 
he  found  himself  somehow  upon  a  lofty  bridge,  swung  by  spidery 
threads  of  steel  above  an  immense  void.  He  was  alone,  yet 
one  of  a  thronging  multitude  that  tramped  ceaselessly  past 
him.  Men  and  women  in  rough  garments,  with  pale,  set 
faces,  with  bent  heads,  —  not  in  groups  of  ones  and  twos  and 
threes,  but  in  a  solid  mass,  —  flowing,  flowing  outwards  from 

41 


42  A   LIFE   FOR  A   LIFE 

the  City  like  the  tide  beneath  the  bridge,  drawn  outwards  to 
the  sea.  There  were  no  human  voices,  no  friendly  glances  to 
the  stranger  stemming  their  tide.  Beneath  was  a  void,  above 
where  the  shadowy  strands  faded  into  the  dark,  a  void;  be 
yond,  the  City  and  behind,  the  City.  And  steadily,  inces 
santly,  here  on  the  great  causeway,  this  tide  of  human 
i  atoms,  —  a  black  tide  flowing  outwards!  It  was  the  tide 
of  labor.  Ebbing  now,  the  day's  work  done,  seeking  repose, 
to  be  sucked  back  on  the  morrow  into  the  City.  Thus  the 
City,  one  vast  labor  house,  charged  itself  daily  with  human 
energy,  and  at  night  discharged  itself  along  a  thousand 
channels  like  this  bridge.  Always  and  always  it  was  thus, 
day  after  day,  month  by  month,  year  upon  year. 

In  the  time  to  come  of  full  man's  experience,when  he  thought 
of  the  City  he  would  see  this  human  tide  of  labor  flowing 
silently  across  the  great  bridge,  hung  aloft  in  the  void,  a  dark 
tide  of  men  and  women  with  white,  set  faces  and  bent  heads, 
as  though  leaning  against  the  blast  of  destiny  that  threatened 
to  sweep  them  forth  into  the  void.  Drawn  by  the  magnet  * 
of  Hunger,  they  flowed  ever  thus  to  and  from  the  labor 
house,  tramping  silently,  the  multitude  of  human  atoms, 
—  the  legs  and  the  arms  and  the  bodies,  the  heads  and  the 
hands  and  the  minds,  of  men.  A  Symbol,  a  significant  sign  of 
that  city  of  men!  The  youth  caught  there  midway  in  the 
flood  beheld  his  arena.  .  .  . 

In  those  days  the  towered  city  had  not  risen,  and  yet  to  the 
youth  looking  over  the  great  plain  of  building  the  stores 
and  warehouses  beneath  him  seemed  immense,  twinkling 
there  in  a  maze  of  gaslight.  From  that  lower  point  of 
the  City  where  the  great  bridge  touched  he  must  have 
wandered  far  up  the  avenues,  gay  and  peopled.  He  remem 
bered  the  lighted  windows  of  the  shops,  a  petty  enough 
show  then  compared  with  what  they  became,  nevertheless 
rich  in  color  and  substance  to  the  hungry  eyes  of  ignorant 


THE  BRIDGE  43 

youth.  In  them  were  jewels  and  fine  ornaments  and 
clothes,  rich  foods  and  furniture  and  beautiful  trinkets,  — 
whatever  the  fancy  and  the  appetite  of  man  might  desire. 
Sated  with  wonder,  he  turned  from  them  to  the  people  in 
the  streets,  —  women  handsomely  dressed  in  rich  carriages 
trotting  forth  for  pleasure,  the  idling  throng  upon  the  pave 
ment,  the  bustle  about  the  doors  of  hotels,  —  always  light  and 
movement  in  the  great  city!  And  on  and  on  in  this  maze  of 
light  and  movement  he  wandered,  past  shops,  and  eating 
places,  and  theatres,  enticed  by  the  spell  of  the  place,  unmindful 
of  time  and  self.  Through  the  pageant  of  the  city's  summer 
night  he  passed,  the  solitary  youth,  with  seeing  eyes  and  open 
ears,  until  at  last  he  had  reached  those  quieter  upper  steets, 
about  a  large  park  where  there  were  great  dwelling-houses, 
removed  by  a  space  of  proud  reserve  from  the  common  ways, 
standing  in  dark  isolation  with  shaded  windows.  Staring  up 
at  these  great  houses  he  wondered  what  manner  of  people 
lived  behind  the  carefully  shuttered  windows. 

As  the  night  drew  on  and  the  city's  voice  sank  to  a  lower 
key,  he  retraced  his  steps  through  street  and  avenue,  emptier 
now,  yet  never  Avholly  without  life.  On  and  on  he  went,  and 
always  there  were  buildings,  always  street  and  curb  and 
solid  wall,  as  if  the  city  had  spread  itself  over  the  entire  earth, 
and  peopled  it  with  crowded  beings. 

Once,  so  the  strange  fancy  came  to  him,  this  place 
of  the  city  was  silent  earth,  like  the  wind-swept  fields 
beside  the  sea  that  he  knew.  Once  there  had  been  earth  here, 
stone  and  soil  and  water,  bearing  green  things.  Now  men 
had  covered  this  earth  with  a  sheet  of  metal  and  planted  it 
with  bricks  and  mortar,  with  steel  and  glass.  They  had 
carved  it  into  a  labyrinth  of  streets,  and  out  of  it  great  build 
ings  shot  upwards  like  beacons  to  the  sky.  Thus  man  had 
made  his  home  of  the  silent  place  of  God!  It  glittered  and 
smoked  and  hissed  in  the  night,  calling  loudly  to  the  heavens, 


44  A   LIFE   FOR  A   LIFE 

throbbing  as  men  throb  with  desires,  made  by  men  for  men, 
-  the  image  of  their  souls.  The  City  was  man !  And  already 
it  was  sowing  its  seed  in  the  heart  of  the  youth,  this  night. 
It  was  moulding  him  as  it  moulds  the  millions,  after  its 
fashion,  warming  his  blood  with  desire,  —  the  vast,  rebound 
ing,  gleaming  City.  .  .  . 

It  must  have  been  well  towards  the  dawn  when  his  aim 
less  wandering  through  the  streets  brought  him  into  a 
quiet  square.  He  had  been  drawn  thither  by  the  bright 
light  of  an  immense  sign,  set  upon  the  roof  of  a  building. 
In  mammoth  letters  that  stretched  across  the  breadth  of 
the  narrow  roof,  compact  of  soft  fire,  the  message  burned 
itself  upon  the  night 

SUCCESS 

The  great  sign  shining  in  the  dark  night  from  the  roof  drew 
the  youth  as  the  candid  draws  the  moth.  He  moved  towards 
it  until  he  stood  beneath  the  tall  thin  shaft  of  building,  ten 
stories  high,  upon  which  the  glittering  sign  rested.  And  in 
the  light  that  radiated  from  the  illumination  above  he  read 
the  gilt  board  beneath :  — 

THE  SUCCESS  CORRESPONDENCE  SCHOOL 

Torch  above  and  text  beneath!  Gapingly  the  youth  looked 
up  at  the  gleaming  sign,  and  his  lips  parted  in  a  little  smile. 
In  his  heart  he  knew  that  this  sign  was  meant  for  him.  Fate 
had  led  his  footsteps  to  his  text.  It  burned  far  into  the 
night,  shooting  its  message  into  all  quarters,  printing  itself 
in  the  radiance  of  the  heavens.  This  was  the  text  of  the 
great  City,  its  watchword  day  and  night,  set  high  above  in 
blazing  letters,  burning  steadily,  a  brand  to  sink  into  the 
souls  of  men.  This  was  the  cry  that  he  heard  in  the  streets, 
that  he  saw  in  the  shop  windows,  in  the  carriages  and  silent 


THE   BRIDGE  45 

houses,  in  the  white,  set  faces  of  men  and  women.     Success! 
He  sat  down  upon  the  curb  beneath  the  sign. 

Some  day  his  friend,  —  the  bearded  Anarch,  —  pointing 
derisively  to  the  bright  symbol,  would  say  to  him,  "That 
is  the  one  word  in  the  language  that  needs  no  explanation. 
For  its  meaning  is  written  in  the  heart  of  every  human  being, 
—  'life  as  I  will  it,— my  life!'" 

Now  as  the  youth  sits  there  on  the  curb  he  hears  the  hum 
of  the  presses  in  the  basement  of  the  new  building.  For 
unknowingly  the  blazing  sign  has'  led  him  to  the  door  of 
Mr.  Benjamin  Gossom's  flourishing  establishment  of  popular 
education,  and  the  swift  presses  are  pouring  forth  thou 
sands  of  his  weekly  leaflets,—  "  Gossom's  Road  to  Suc 
cess.  "  On  the  morrow,  still  warm  from  the  press  and 
smelling  of  paper  and  ink,  these  Gossom  words  will  be 
speeding  to  his  countrymen  by  fast  trains  across  the  conti 
nent,  up  and  down  the  states,  climbing  the  hills,  seeking  tiny 
hamlets,  dull  country  towns,  busy  little  cities,  spreading 
broadcast  wherever  they  fall  among  the  eighty  millions 
their  winged  message.  Beneath  the  eaves  on  the  tenth 
floor,  behind  the  broad  gold  sign,  Gossom's  clever  young 
men  and  nimble  stenographers  have  been  feverishly  prepar 
ing  this  winged  message  for  the  past  week,  working  far  into 
the  nights  to  get  the  perfect  mixture  of  fact  and  fiction,  — 
fable,  precept,  and  gossip.  "And  this,"  would  say  the  great 
Benjamin,  "is  the  people's  education  and  I  make  it!"  .  .  . 

The  youth  sat  there  at  the  feet  of  the  fiery  symbol  and 
mused,  as  if  aware  in  his  unsophisticated  mind  that  he  had 
reached  the  heart  of  the  City,  that  his  journey  of  wonder 
and  question  ended  here.  Suddenly  above  the  purr  of  the 
presses  in  the  basement  of  Gossom's  building  a  shrill  cry 
rang  out  in  the  night,  a  woman's  shriek  of  agony.  The 
youth  quivered  with  the  stab  of  that  shriek,  his  eyes  search 
ing  the  dark  street. 


II 

A  WEAK  LINK  IN  THE   CHAIN 

OVER  the  way  from  the  Success  School  there  was 
a  long,  low  brick  building  that  once  had  been  a  stable 
when  the  rich  still  lived  in  this  quarter.  The  small  windows 
in  the  loft  were  brightly  lighted,  and  through  their  open 
lower  sashes  might  be  seen  bent  heads  and  women's  arms 
in  ceaseless  motion,  the  heads  bent  over  hands  engaged  in 
some  concealed  task.  When  the  shriek  sounded  in  the 
street,  all  became  confusion  in  this  lighted  loft:  girls  could 
be  seen  running  to  and  fro  before  the  windows,  crying  and 
waving  their  hands. 

The  youth,  after  the  first  quiver  of  surprise,  started  on 
the  run  for  the  narrow  staircase  that  led  to  the  loft.  At 
the  top  girls  were  struggling,  crying  and  pushing  hysterically, 
while  a  little  fat  man  in  shirt  sleeves  was  vainly  trying 
to  pacify  them.  Somehow  Hugh  found  himself  in  the 
room,  and  with  him  a  large  bearded  man  wrapped  in  a 
loose  cloak,  wearing  a  dingy  slouch  hat.  Soon  a  burly 
uniformed  officer  made  his  appearance,  and  the  little  fat 
man,  giving  up  his  efforts  to  restore  order,  with  a  shrug  of 
his  shoulders,  folded  his  arms  and  leaned  against  a  table. 

The  loft  was  crossed  with  a  network  of  gears  and  belting 
that  ran  to  machines  clamped  upon  the  benches  before  the 
windows.  Each  one  of  these  machines  was  a  bundle  of 
long,  sharp,  steel  needles,  fixed  to  an  iron  arm.  The  savage 
teeth  were  still,  for  the  power  had  been  shut  off.  Soft 
white  fabrics  were  spread  on  the  long  table  in  the  centre  of 

46 


A   WEAK   LINK   IN  THE   CHAIN  47 

the  room,  and  bundles  of  cloth  lay  upon  the  floor.  In  spite 
of  the  confusion,  Hugh  perceived  at  once  a  girl  lying  on  a 
pile  of  these  cut  pieces,  her  arms  and  legs  twitching  con 
vulsively.  The  shrieks  had  softened  to  one  moaning  cry :  — 

" Don't  let  'em  cut  it  off!     Don't  let  'em  cut  it  off!" 

"What's  the  matter?  "  Hugh  demanded  of  a  large,  apathetic 
girl  who  was  staring  at  the  moaning  figure. 

" She's  got  sewed  up,"  the  girl  replied,  jerking  her  head 
towards  the  figure  on  the  floor. 

" In  the  machine?" 

"Yep.  They  go  awful  fast.  If  you  don't  look  out, 
you're  caught.  She's  green  at  it,  and  it  took  her  hand  and 
arm,  so!" 

She  demonstrated  the  accident  upon  her  own  plump, 
sleeveless  arm. 

"It  happens  sometimes  —  you  get  caught." 

Meanwhile 'the  policeman  and  the  fat  little  man  had  gone 
to  the  telephone.  The  bearded  fellow  was  leaning  over  the 
wounded  girl,  speaking  gently,  soothing  her,  and  some  of 
the  girls  were  trying  rudely  to  stanch  the  flow  of  blood.  The 
girl  still  moaned,  "Don't  let  'em  cut  it  off!"  Then  there 
was  a  clatter  on  the  pavement  outside,  and  almost  imme 
diately  two  men  appeared  with  a  stretcher.  One  —  the 
doctor  —  went  immediately  to  the  girl  on  the  pile  of  cloth, 
felt  swiftly  here  and  there,  unwrapping  the  bloody  hand, 
and  again  rose  that  shriek  until  Hugh  shuddered.  "Don't 
cut  it  off!  Don't  —  don't! " 

"Awful,  ain't  it?"  the  apathetic  girl  said  to  him.  "I 
hope  they'll  dope  her  quick." 

The  doctor  reached  into  his  bag,  and  the  injured  girl  cried 
still  louder,  as  if  aware  that  this  would  be  her  last  protest,  — 
"No,  no  —  I  won't !     Don't  let  'em  cut  it  off !" 

The  big,  bearded  man  held  her  while  the  doctor  gave  the 
opiate,  gently  restraining  her  convulsive  efforts  to  escape. 


48  A   LIFE   FOR  A   LIFE 

And  then  gradually  the  shrieks  subsided,  settling  into  one 
long,  sobbing  moan,  —  "No  —  I  —  won't  —  let  'em  —  cut 
—  it  —  off!  No  —  no—  Then  there  was  a  strange  si 
lence  in  the  room,  as  horrid  as  the  cries,  while  the  men  swiftly 
placed  the  limp  figure  on  the  stretcher  and  prepared  to 
carry  her  to  the  ambulance. 

He  remembered  the  silence  in  the  room  while  the  men 
stepped  heavily  down  the  stairs  with  their  burden,  then  the 
rush  to  the  windows  to  watch  the  white  object  on  the  stretcher 
shoved  into  the  waiting  cart.  He  wondered  whither  they 
were  bearing  her  in  the  vast  city.  The  gong  sounded,  the 
ambulance  moved  away,  and  almost  at  the  same  moment  the 
belts  in  the  loft  began  whirring,  drowning  the  chatter  of  the 
girls.  The  shop  boss  pushed  the  girls  back  to  the  benches, 
while  the  bearded  man  talked  with  the  policeman,  who  was 
making  notes  in  a  little  book.  The  whirring  belts  suddenly 
took  hold  of  the  gears,  the  iron  arms  set  with  their  glisten 
ing  steel  teeth  slowly  lifted,  then  descended,  rose  again  and 
darted  down  into  the  soft  white  masses  of  cloth,  eating  their 
way  like  streaks  of  glittering  light  through  the  white  fabric. 
The  heads  of  the  girls  were  bent,  their  eyes  fixed  upon  those 
streaks  of  light,  their  tense  fingers  guiding  the  cloth 
swiftly  as  the  needles  flashed  through  it. 

The  youth  must  have  lingered,  fascinated  by  the  scene,  — 
that  row  of  bent  heads  above  the  flashing  needles,  the  tense 
gaze  of  the  girls  upon  those  fiery  points  between  their  fingers. 
The  lumpish  girl  was  chewing  nervously  at  a  mouthful  of 
gum,  steering  her  mass  of  fluffy  stuff,  dead  to  the  world. 

"Say!  What  are  you  doing  here?"  the  perspiring  little 
boss  demanded,  touching  the  youth  upon  the  shoulder.  And 
with  a  scowl,  elbowing  him  towards  the  door,  he  growled, 
"Get  out  of  this  —  quick.  We've  had  enough  trouble  for 
one  night!" 

He  found  himself  in  the  street  beside  the  bearded  man. 


A   WEAK   LINK   IN  THE   CHAIN  49 

The  stranger  had  a  sympathetic,  disengaged  air  as  he  looked 
at  the  youth,  which  invited  speech. 

"What  have  they  done  with  her? — What  does  it  all 
mean?"  Hugh  asked,  breathless,  feeling  that  he  was  in  some 
sort  of  nightmare.  The  bearded  stranger's  lips  opened  in  a 
slow  smile.  He  seemed  to  comprehend  the  youth's  be 
wildered  state  of  mind. 

"Taken  her  to  the  hospital,"  he  replied.  "It's  just  an 
accident.  The  officer  tells  me  there's  one  in  this  shop  on  an 
average  twice  a  month.  You  see,"  he  continued  in  a  leisurely, 
explanatory  tone,  "those  new  electric  sewing-machines 
are  deadly  things !  The  old  machines  had  one  needle,  and  it 
made  only  about  ten  strokes  a  second.  But  these  new  elec 
tric  ones  carry  a  bunch  of  five  needles,  and  they  are  geared  to 
run  forty  strokes  to  the  second.  The  needle  has  become  p, 
mere  streak  of  light  to  the  eye  of  the  operator.  The  least 
lapse  of  attention  results  —  like  this!"  t 

"But  why  do  they  let  young  girls  handle  such  terrible 
machines?"  Hugh  demanded. 

The  stranger  smiled  good-naturedly.  He  seemed  to  have 
a  placid  philosophical  interest  in  making  this  matter  quite 
plain  to  the  youth. 

"Because  it's  cheaper,  because  girls  are  quicker,  and 
when  they  are  caught,  like  that  one,  the  cost  is  less.  One 
of  those  machines  can  do  ten  times  the  work  of  the  old  sew 
ing-machine.  Hence  increased  efficiency,  increased  profits. 
It's  the  business  law,  my  boy!  That's  life  in  the  City  — 
gearing  up,  always  gearing  up." 

And  as  the  youth  pondered  this  simple  truth,  he  added,  — 

"The  trouble  is  that  the  brain  of  the  girl  operator  has  not 
been  geared  up  fast  enough  to  meet  the  demand  of  the  new 
machine.  The  increased  number  of  revolutions  in  those 
gears  requires  an  increased  number  of  brain  reactions.  The 
operator,  too,  must  work  at  higher  tension." 


50  A   LIFE   FOR  A   LIFE 

Hugh  nodded,  and  the  bearded  one,  linking  his  arm  in 
the  youth's,  strolled  towards  the  street  corner,  still  talking. 

"But  the  brains  of  those  girls  are  of  a  very  primitive 
order." 

"Why  do  they  take  such  dangerous  work?" 

The  stranger  made  an  expressive  gesture  with  his  hand 
and  his  mouth. 

"You  are  new  to  the  City!"  he  observed,  and  continued 
his  line  of  thought.  "That  girl  whose  hand  was  sewed  up 
could  not  have  been  much  over  fifteen.  She  had  been  work 
ing  at  the  machines  less  than  a  month.  A  girl  of  that  age 
should  not  be  allowed  to  run  a  power  machine,  which  makes 
over  five  hundred  strokes  a  minute.  Moreover,  the 
machine  should  be  properly  protected,  but  that  would 
cost  more.  Her  little  brain  should  be  geared  up  grad 
ually  to  such  intensive  labor.  And  this  night  work, 
demanding  an  extra  drain  upon  the  nerve  cells,  and  the 
sudden  heat  wave  have  made  them  all  languid  —  so  the  girl's 
eyes  wandered.  Perhaps  she  was  thinking  of  her  fellow,  or 
of  the  thirty  cents  extra  for  this  night  work  —  who  knows? 
But  that  errant  thought  has  caused  the  loss  of  her  capital,  — 
her  right  hand,  —  probably.  The  doctor  told  me  there  was 
not  much  chance  of  saving  it.  And  this  loss  of  her  sole 
capital  will  force  her  to  change  her  class:  she  will  have  to 
enter  another  profession  in  the  struggle  for  existence." 

The  youth  tried  to  comprehend  these  mysteries,  and  stam 
mered  :  — 

"That's  why  she  cried  out  that  way?" 

"Not  to  cut  off  her  hand?"  the  stranger  replied,  with  a 
slow  smile.  "Don't  you  understand?"  and  as  the  youth 
looked  puzzled,  he  pointed  to  a  woman  lingering  under  a 
gaslight  at  the  corner  of  the  street,  peering  doubtfully  at 
them,  then  glancing  away  to  the  more  frequented  avenue, 
as  if  awaiting  some  one.  "You  know  HER!" 


Ill 

THE   SYMBOL 

THE  woman  slowly  started  off  up  the  lighted  avenue, 
looking  this  way  and  that,  in  search  of  one  who  did  not 
come.  The  stranger  nodded  towards  her  retreating  form. 

"Understand  now?  That  woman  over  there  belongs  to 
the  universal  and  eternal  profession,  the  woman's  profes 
sion  that  was  before  competitive  society  existed,  and  will 
be  long  after  it  has  dissolved  into  something  else.  For  it 
is  the  only  stable  profession,  open  at  all  times  and  to  pretty 
nearly  every  woman  born." 

The  youth  began  to  understand,  and  blushed.  For  the 
little  mill  town  had  not  been  free  from  members  of  this 
universal  profession,  although  they  had  been  hidden  away 
in  alleys  and  ignored.  The  meaning  of  that  pitiful  cry  now 
began  to  dawn  in  his  mind. 

"When  those  needles  bit  like  fire  into  that  girl's  hand,  the 
first  idea  that  coursed  through  her  small  brain,  stimulated 
by  the  horrible  pain,  was  that  her  moment  of  errant  atten 
tion  might  cost  her  the  so-called  respectable  livelihood  that 
she  enjoyed.  And  that,  bread  and  shelter  and  clothes  being 
otherwise  unprocurable,  she  must  become  —  a  whore!" 

The  bearded  stranger  brought  out  the  opprobrious  word 
with  a  tranquil  emphasis  that  made  the  youth  start.  They 
had  reached  a  small  park,  in  the  rear  of  the  Gossom  build 
ing,  about  which  rose  large,  old  houses  of  an  ancient  afflu 
ence.  The  stranger,  leaning  against  the  iron  palings  of  the 
park,  hunted  for  a  pipe,  filled  it,  and  putting  his  hand  again 

51 


52  A   LIFE   FOR   A   LIFE 

beneath  the  youth's  arm,  resumed  his  strolling  pace  around 
the  square,  smoking  and  talking. 

"Now  her  brain,  elementary  as  it  is,  performed  that  feat 
of  imagination  with  lightning  rapidity.  So  her  one  thought 
was  to  save  her  capital,  —  her  means  of  an  honest  livelihood 
—  you  understand?" 

"But  the  proprietor  will  do  something  for  her,"  Hugh 
urged. 

"He'll  give  her  twenty-five  dollars  for  a  complete  dis 
charge  of  his  liability.  He's  not  a  rich  man.  You  should 
see  him  when  he  goes  to  his  bank !  He  himself  is  likely  enough 
to  be  chewed  up  some  of  these  days  by  a  stronger  competitor. 
.  .  .  The  twenty-five  dollars  will  see  the  girl  through  her 
illness.  And  then  —  "he  completed  the  thought  with  a  quiet 
gesture.  "An  ignorant  one-armed  girl  of  sixteen  has  not 
much  chance  in  the  fight." 

"Horrible!"  the  youth  murmured,  his  arm  trembling  in 
the  stranger's  grasp. 

"But  commonplace.  You  must  get  used  to  the  sordid 
details  of  our  glorious  civilization!  And  we  must  not  sen 
timentalize.  What  would  have  happened,  if  she  had  escaped 
this  accident?  And  escaped  also  any  irregular  entanglement 
with  some  amorous  male?  She  would  have  married  that 
fellow  of  hers,  and  spent  herself  bringing  children  into  the 
world  in  some  back  room  over  there."  He  pointed  down 
the  street  to  a  row  of  tall  brick  buildings.  "Six  or  eight  or 
a  dozen  in  a  couple  of  rooms!  No,  the  girl  was  brought 
into  this  world  by  accident,  product  of  easy  times  and  high 
wages.  She  answered  the  demand  for  labor.  And  so  from  the 
moment  she  was  conceived,  she  was  destined  to  feed  the  labor 
machine  in  one  way  or  another.  Her  very  being  in  this 
world  of  ours  is  due  to  the  opportunity  for  exploiting  her." 

The  youth  listened  with  bewildered  eyes,  trying  to  com 
prehend  a  strange,  new  language. 


THE   SYMBOL  53 

"They  are  bred  like  cattle,"  the  stranger  said  harshly,  "and 
worked  for  all  there  is  in  them,  with  less  care  than  cattle  get!" 

This  the  youth  could  understand. 

"Most  of  the  girls  enter  the  ancient  profession  because 
it's  the  easiest  solution,  better  than  the  grind  of  shop  or  mill. 
But  this  one  in  the  shirt  factory  seemed  rather  fresh,  as  if 
she  still  had  that  singularly  tenacious  aversion  to  sex  pro 
miscuity  that  the  normal  female  of  our  civilization  preserves 
• —  a  German  Jew,  I  should  say.  Maybe  she  has  some 
ideal  of  monogamy,  —  a  desire  for  sentiment  and  conven 
tional  satisfaction  of  the  sex  instinct." 

The  youth  instinctively  drew  apart  from  the  bearded 
stranger,  disliking  the  cold  tone  with  which  this  singular 
man  discussed  the  tenderest  secrets  of  humanity.  The 
mood  of  irony  was  unintelligible  to  the  country  lad,  and 
this  slouchy  figure,  wrapped  in  an  old  cloak,  smoking  a  foul 
pipe  and  discoursing  on  street  corners  of  the  mysteries,  seemed 
another  marvellous  manifestation  of  the  great  City.  .  .  . 

Their  loitering  pace  finally  brought  them  to  one  of  those 
lofty  mansions  on  the  other  side  of  the  square,  of  which  the  door 
was  unlocked.  The  stranger,  not  relinquishing  his  grip  upon 
Hugh,  entered  and  guided  his  companion  up  the  narrow  stairs. 
Dim  gaslights  showed  the  lofty  ceilings  and  heavy  cornices  of 
what  once  must  have  been  a  rich  man's  house.  It  was  old 
and  shabby  and  dirty  now,  like  its  neighbors  in  this  quarter, 
hesitating  between  a  decline  into  the  undisguised  slum  of  the 
east  and  the  commercialized  respectability  of  the  west.  While 
it  lingered  in  the  borderland  between  trade  and  tenement,  it 
housed  such  uncertain  persons  as  the  bearded  man. 

At  the  very  top  of  the  house  the  stranger  unlocked  a  door, 
and  with  a  wave  of  his  hand  ushered  the  youth  into  a  large 
attic  chamber.  The  dormer  windows  on  the  south  were  ex 
posed  to  the  full  blast  of  the  electric  sign,  —  SUCCESS,  — 
which  filled  the  room  with  a  tolerable  light  from  its  beams. 


54  A   LIFE  FOR  A   LIFE 

"Yonder,"  said  the  man,  "is  the  light  by  which  I  live. 
Behold!"  He  pointed  to  the  great  sign.  "Like  the  lamp  of 
God,  luckily  it  shines  upon  the  successful  and  the  unsuccessful 
alike!" 

From  a  closet  he  brought  some  food  and  a  bottle  of  liquor, 
which  he  placed  upon  the  sole  table  in  the  room.  Pouring 
himself  a  glass  of  the  drink,  he  raised  it  to  his  smiling  lips  and 
nodded  towards  the  sign.  Hugh  ate  some  bread  and  watched 
his  host,  who,  having  emptied  the  glass,  began  again  to  talk. 

"I  believe  you  were  gazing  at  yonder  beacon  when  the 
little  tragedy  across  the  way  distracted  your  attention?  " 

Hugh  nodded. 

"Another  moth  to  the  flame  —  fresh  from  the  country? 
They  come  by  the  thousands!"  He  poured  himself  more 
whiskey,  and  sipping  it  reflectively  continued,  "You  have  not 
yet  connected  in  your  mind  the  two  —  that  sign  yonder  and 
the  girl  with  the  maimed  hand.  They  are,  nevertheless, 
closely  bound  together,  one  of  an  infinite  number  of  petty 
knots  —  cause  and  effect  —  in  this  tangled  world  of  ours." 

From  a  litter  of  papers  and  books  beneath  the  table  he  ex 
tracted  one  of  Gossom's  leaflets.  The  gaudily  illuminated 
cover  bore  in  torch-like  letters  of  gold  the  words  The  Road 
to  Success. 

"Ever  seen  the  thing?  The  gospel  of  unrest!  How  to 
beat  the  game!  Will  make  you  Plumber  or  Bank  Presi 
dent  for  ten  dollars  and  twenty  lessons.  And  here!"  He 
delved  again  and  brought  forth  a  thick  magazine  adorned 
with  the  picture  of  a  highly  colored  female. 

He  thumbed  the  pages  until  he  came  to  a  cut  in  the  adver 
tising  section,  and  then  handed  the  magazine  to  the  youth. 
The  full-page  cut  represented  an  attractive  young  woman 
adorned  in  some  fluffy  article  of  underwear.  To  the  youth's 
puzzled  look  he  remarked  mockingly:  - 

"It's  an  article  that  once  was  made  in  the  privacy  of  the 


THE   SYMBOL  55 

home.  Now,  in  response  to  the  demand  created  by  such  at 
tractive  pictures  as  this,  it  is  manufactured  by  hundreds  of 
thousands  in  shops  such  as  you  have  seen  by  machines  like 
those  that  sewed  up  the  girl's  hand.  That  mass  of  wood 
pulp  and  printer's  ink  which  you  hold  in  your  hand  is  one  of 
the  efficient  processes  in  the  modern  system  of  creating  thirst 
for  things  in  order  that  they  may  be  made  and  sold  for  a  profit 
to  some  one.  That  big  building"  —he  pointed  to  the  Gos- 
som  establishment  —  "is  a  thirst  provoker  —  its  business  is 
to  create  desires!" 

And  thereupon  the  bearded  one  entered  upon  a  highly  pic 
turesque  account  of  the  complex  psychology  of  this  world 
which  related  Mr.  Gossom's  " beneficent  institution"  (his  fond 
description  of  the  Success  School)  with  the  fate  of  the  little 
girl  at  the  sewing-machine  in  the  loft.  The  youth,  propping 
his  head  on  his  hands,  facing  the  lambent  sign  which  seemed 
at  times  to  wink  at  him  over  the  bearded  one's  shoulders, 
listened,  absorbed,  not  wholly  comprehending  the  marvel 
lous  flow  of  fact  and  fancy,  lit  with  bitter  irony,  pointed  with 
brutal  fact.  (In  his  memories  of  that  first  encounter  with 
the  bearded  stranger,  doubtless  much  else  from  different  occa 
sions  of  later  intercourse  became  involved,  for  it  was  impos 
sible  that  the  waning  hours  of  his  first  night  could  have  held  the 
whole  of  what  he  seemed  to  remember.  .  .  .) 

It  was  an  extraordinary  view  of  things, — to  the  simple 
youth  an  altogether  bedlam  account  of  the  world  and 
of  man,  —  but  presented,  with  the  aid  of  more  whiskey, 
with  a  finish  of  illustration,  an  aptness  which  even  that 
orthodox  soul,  President  Nathaniel  Butterfield  of  the  great 
City  University,  at  one  time  lecturer  upon  social  problems, 
must  have  'admired,  although  deploring  the  insidious  fallacies 
of  an  argument  totally  subversive  of  the  glories  of  THINGS  AS 
THEY  ARE,  in  which  President  Butterfield  had  ample  cause 
for  firm  belief. 


56  A   LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

Surely  portly  little  Benjamin  Gossom,  sitting  in  his  ma 
hogany  sanctum  beneath  his  electric  aegis,  would  have  blushed 
with  amazement  and  anger  at  this  "  anarchistic "  analysis  of 
his  very  being!  For  Mr.  Gossom  was  the  incarnate  spirit  of 
advertising.  Why,  the  simplest  schoolboy  knew  that  civili 
zation  had  reached  its  present  splendid  level  in  these 
broad  United  States  chiefly  by  the  development  of  the 
advertising  spirit.  He,  Benjamin  Gossom,  was  accustomed  to 
look  upon  himself  as  an  agent  of  the  Lord  in  the  work  of 
sowing  broadcast  the  wealth  of  this  His  earth  by  enticing 
His  children  to  desire  whatsoever  material  things  they  did 
not  possess.  What  idiot's  raving  was  this  bearded  fool 
uttering  in  that  bare  attic  hole! 

Our  youth,  leaning  upon  the  wooden  table  in  this  same  attic 
room,  his  brows  knit  in  puzzled  thought,  his  eyes  wandering 
from  the  stranger's  lips  to  the  huge  sign  across  the  alley,  was 
trying  vainly  to  grasp  the  meaning  of  it  all.  From  the  flood 
of  words — the  panoramic  view  of  Life  To-day — he  began 
dimly  to  perceive  a  strange  new  light.  And  in  this  light  he  saw 
afresh  those  faces  upon  the  City  street,  heard  again  the  dull 
music  of  the  marching  multitude  upon  the  bridge,  fleeing  from 
their  labor  house,  beheld  more  clearly  the  whirring  machines 
in  the  loft,  with  their  bright  streaks  of  light  where  the 
needles  flashed.  His  fingers  turned  mechanically  the  thick 
pages  of  the  magazine,  which  revealed  a  dazzling  procession  of 
cuts,  representing  engines,  clothes,  foods,  guns,  corsets,  jewel 
lery,  —  truly  a  catalogue  of  human  desires. 

"  Modern  industry  is  concerned  mostly  with  satisfying  useless 
or  harmful  wants,"  the  bearded  one  was  saying.  "  Study  that 
wood-pulp  mass  with  care:  it  will  give  you  your  best 
lessons  in  what  life  is  to-day,  —  at  this  moment  of  the  world's 
history!" 

Desires !  In  hi  s  troubled  brain  there  was  dawning  faintly  the 
light  of  a  great  thought.  This  vast  labor  house  of  life  was  set 


THE   SYMBOL  57 

in  motion  by  desire.  What  kind  of  desire?  His  eyes 
went  back  to  Mr.  Gossom's  illumined  Symbol. 

The  work  of  the  world  to  which  he  had  come  to  take  his  part, 
to  get  his  reward,  seemed  like  the  whirring  revolution  of  a 
titanic  machine,  grinding,  shaping,  and  out  from  its  hopper 
dropped  —  the  figure  of  a  little  girl  with  a  bloody  hand.  .  .  . 

Meantime  the  City's  voice  had  almost  utterly  died  out.  The 
lights  in  the  houses  all  about  had  gone  out  long  since, 
but  the  blazing  Symbol  neither  flickered  nor  flared,  casting 
steadily  its  message  over  City  roofs,  a  torch  in  the  sky  to  men. 

. SUCCESS 

The  bearded  Anarch  leaning  out  of  the  window  knocked  thef 
ashes  from  his  last  pipe  against  the  bricks  and  nodded  ironical 
greeting  to  the  Symbol. 

"  Oh,  mighty  magnet !  It  drew  me  hither  to  this  attic  cham 
ber.  It  drew  you  from  afar  into  the  City." 

"Yes,"  sighed  the  weary  youth,  " that's  what  I  came  for!" 

"And  you  will  give  up  your  life  to  it.  It  draws  its  millions 
and  its  tens  of  millions  into  the  clutch  of  the  great 
machine.  .  .  .  Well,  this  first  night  you  shall  sleep  bathed 
in  its  beneficent  beams. " 

He  drew  a  lounge  to  the  window  for  his  guest,  and  flinging 
himself  on  his  bed  in  the  corner  was  soon  asleep.  The  youth, 
gazing  into  the  large  yellow  eyes  of  the  sign,  thought  that  on  the 
morrow  he  must  surely  find  his  job. 

Then  he  fell  asleep. 


IV 

ONE   NAME  AMONG  THE   MILLIONS 

THE  next  morning  when  the  youth  awoke,  warm  yellow  sun 
shine  was  flooding  the  attic  room  instead  of  the  beams  from 
the  great  sign.  That  was  black  and  lustreless,  and  the  huge 
scantling  on  which  the  letters  were  formed  cut  the  blue  sky 
like  a  web  of  revealed  magic.  From  the  streets  below  rose  the 
roar  of  traffic ;  the  day's  business  was  well  begun  in  the  City. 
For  a  few  moments  he  lay  there,  trying  to  piece  together 
some  reality  out  of  the  confused  images  of  the  night,  then  rose 
and  hastily  dressed  himself.  His  host's  bed  was  empty, 
and  on  the  table  he  found  a  pencilled  scrawl,  —  "Come  back 
when  you  will."  It  was  signed  "Wethered."  Still  numb 
with  the  experience  of  his  first  immersion  in  the  great  City, 
he  descended  to  the  street.  But  once  his  feet  had  touched  the 
pavement,  already  hot  with  the  morning  sun,  and  his  ears  were 
filled  with  the  resounding  voice  of  the  City,  he  straightway  for 
got  the  bearded  stranger  and  his  fantastic  fable  of  Success. 
There  awoke  anew  within  him  the  insistent  purpose  that  had 
led  him  thither  —  to  find  his  way  into  the  great  arena. 

One  name  alone  among  all  the  millions  in  the  City  was  known 
to  the  youth,  —  a  name  that  had  become  familiar  in  the  Grant 
family  from  the  old  man's  lips,  the  name  of  Alexander  Arnold. 
The  story  was  as  simple  as  that  other  family  epic  of  the  finding 
of  the  foundling,  and  in  the  words  of  old  Grant  was  this :  — 

"After  the  War  I  was  as  poor  as  most  of  the  boys,  with 
just  my  horse  and  a  claim,  along  with  some  others,  to  a  tract 

58 


ONE  NAME  AMONG  THE  MILLIONS         59 

of  land  in  the  mountains.  I  rode  the  horse  across  the  states 
to  that  land,  and  it  was  nothing  but  a  sort  of  lonesome  wilder 
ness.  So  I  went  back  home  and  thought  nothing  more  about 
the  land  until  one  day  some  years  after  a  feller  came  to  me 
from  this  man  Arnold,  and  said  if  I  could  get  the  others  to  sell 
me  their  share  Arnold  would  give  me  ten  thousand  dollars  for 
the  land.  The  others  were  women  and  knew  nothing  'bout 
the  property.  I  went  to  the  City  and  saw  this  Arnold,  and  he 
was  a  mighty  bright  man.  '  'Tain't  worth  anything  to  them/ 
I  said  to  him,  'more'n  it  is  to  me.'  'You  get  'em  to  sell/  he 
said,  'and  there's  five  thousand  in  it  for  you!'  'No/  I  said, 
'that  ain't  the  way  I  do  business.  Whatever  the  land  is 
worth,  they  share  same  as  me.'  He  laughed  and  said,  'You're 
an  honest  man,  Grant!  Fix  it  to  suit  yourself.'  So  when  he 
came  to  pay  for  the  land,  he  says  again,  '  You're  an  honest 
man,  Grant !  And  if  you  ever  want  help  here  in  the  City,  you 
come  and  see  me.'" 

So  when  it  had  been  question  of  the  foundling's  setting  forth 
in  search  of  fortune,  the  old  man  had  repeated,  "Go  and  see 
that  Alexander  Arnold.  Tell  him  I  sent  you — David  Grant, 
the  man  who  sold  him  the  land  in  the  mountains." 

Arnold  lived,  so  the  youth  learned,  far  to  the  north,  and  this 
warm  summer  morning  he  started  in  search  of  the  great  one. 
He  did  not  know  that  in  the  years  which  had  passed  since  the 
simple  old  surveyor  had  had  his  dealings  with  the  young 
speculator,  Arnold  had  made  a  great  name  in  the  City,  a  name 
to  conjure  with,  which  already  reached  far  beyond  the  City 
limits  out  over  the  broad  country.  It  was  becoming  rapidly 
a  symbol  of  Power  and  Control  in  the  land;  his  hand  was  in 
many  enterprises  that  touched  the  lives  of  millions. 

And  this  was  the  one  name  of  all  the  people  in  the  great  City 
that  the  youth  knew! 

He  set  out  on  his  quest  with  light  heart,  his  roving  eyes 
absorbing  the  spectacle  of  the  awakened  city.  Already,  for 


60  A   LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

many  hours,  the  heavy  drays  had  been  thudding  through  the 
streets,  but  now  the  cry  of  human  traffic  was  at  its  height  and 
all  was  in  motion  throughout  the  City.  The  tide  of  labor  had 
rolled  back  across  the  great  bridge,  and  from  many  avenues  men 
and  women  were  pouring  into  the  City  for  their  labor.  Each 
was  intent  upon  his  affair,  pursuing  his  purpose,  and  the  youth, 
remembering  the  words  of  the  bearded  stranger,  smiled  to 
himself.  In  the  summer  morning,  the  terrible  problem  of  the 
night  seemed  evident  and  simple.  'Get  to  work!'  the  City 
shouted  from  its  lusty  lungs.  'Get  to  work!'  the  set  faces  of 
the  hurrying  multitude  said.  Insensibly  his  feet  had  caught 
the  impatient  rhythm  of  the  street,  and  the  excitement  had 
touched  his  nerves.  Work,  his  work,  that  was  all  his  eager 
heart  was  fixed  upon.  Already,  before  he  had  lived  a  day,  the 
great  City  was  claiming  him  for  its  own. 

So  he  hastened  on,  impatient,  threading  through  busy 
streets,  up  crowded  avenues,  casting  hasty  glances  at  the 
spidery  structures  of  steel  rising  with  the  noisy  tap  of  metal 
mallets,  the  hissing  of  steam,  passing  great  caverns  of  rock 
where  men  were  digging  into  the  earth  for  their  foundations. 
All  was  in  bustling  turmoil,  out  of  which  somehow  emerged  a 
harmonious  note, — "Work!  Work!  achievement,  accom 
plishment,  life!"  And  he  hurried  on. 

Far  up  the  City  opposite  that  green  space  of  park  where 
he  had  rested  the  night  before,  he  found  the  home  of  Alexander 
Arnold,  —  one  of  those  tall,  proud  houses  removed  by  a  narrow 
strip  of  precious  earth  from  the  street  pavement.  With  a 
glance  at  the  large  stone  face,  the  carving  about  the  windows, 
he  strode  up  the  broad  stone  steps  to  knock  at  the  gate  of  his 
fortune.  It  was  a  massive  door  barred  with  metal,  with  a  tiny 
window  of  glass,  behind  which  was  the  face  of  a  servant, 
smooth  and  impassive.  .  .  . 

The  youth  never  knew  how  accident  befriended  him  in  the 
execution  of  his  simple  plan.  For  while  the  servant  at  the 


ONE  NAME  AMONG  THE  MILLIONS         61 

door  was  about  to  turn  him  away,  as  he  turned  away  many  who 
came  thither  in  search  of  his  master  on  errands  that  would 
seem  trivial  to  the  busy  man,  the  inner  door  opened  and  the 
master  of  the  house  himself  appeared,  followed  by  his  secretary 
and  another  servant.  The  youth  confronted  Alexander 
Arnold  before  his  door,  and  the  glance  that  the  older  man  gave 
the  younger  one  from  beneath  his  bushy  gray  brows  was  the 
most  searching  human  examination  that  Hugh  Grant  had 
ever  suffered.  It  was  compact  of  cunning  and  suspicion  and 
knowledge  of  men — the  distilled  wisdom  of  a  ripe  age.  For  at 
this  time  Arnold's  thick  hair  was  already  becoming  white  and 
his  face  was  deeply  lined,  though  the  carriage  of  his  small  body 
was  firm  and  vigorous,  and  the  alert  glance  and  the  aggressive 
step  bespoke  complete  power  of  manhood.  The  servant  had  al 
ready  edged  himself  between  his  master  and  the  intruder  when 
the  youth,  seizing  quickly  the  slipping  opportunity,  spoke :  — 

"Are  you  Mr.  Alexander  Arnold?" 

"Well?"  the  rough  voice  replied  with  a  questioning  in 
flection.  It  was  the  curt  tone  of  one  who  admitted  nothing 
in  dealing  with  his  fellow-men. 

" I  am  Hugh  Grant—" 

The  great  man  was  already  passing  him  on  the  step. 

"You  knew  my  father,  David  Grant  — " 

The  man  wheeled. 

"Grant?"  he  queried,  with  knitted  brows,  and  again  the 
servant  interposed,  saying  pertly,  "If  you  have  any  business, 
you  must  write." 

But  Hugh  continued  tranquilly,  with  perfect  self-posses 
sion,  "David  Grant  —  he  sold  you  some  land  once." 

Into  the  older  man's  eyes  there  flashed  recollection.  "Well," 
he  said,  indifferently,  "what  do  you  want?"  as  though  he 
knew  all  men  only  through  their  demands.  While  Hugh 
hesitated,  at  a  loss  for  the  best  word,  the  door  behind  them 
opened  again,  and  a  servant  came  running  forth  with  a  message 


62  A  LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

for  Arnold.  Turning  brusquely,  he  signed  to  the  youth  to 
follow  him,  saying,  "Wait!" 

Grudgingly  the  servant  held  open  that  massive  door,  and 
the  youth  entered,  following  the  old  man  through  the  marble 
vestibule  into  the  lofty,  spacious  hall  within.  There  the 
master  of  the  house  motioned  him  to  stay,  and  disappeared. 
The  servant  standing  beside  the  outer  door  gazed  impassively 
over  his  head.  It  was  a  large,  dim  place  in  which  the  youth 
found  himself,  lighted  in  some  disguised  manner  from  above. 
Slowly  he  began  to  distinguish  objects  in  the  subdued  at 
mosphere,  —  many  wonderful  and  unfamiliar  things,  — 
rugs  and  tapestries  and  pictures,  heavy  tables  and  gilded 
cabinets,  furniture  of  rare  woods  and  of  metal  carved 
and  adorned  in  skilful  manner.  From  where  he  stood  he 
could  see  other  rooms  beyond,  making  a  long  vista,  and  all 
filled  with  rich  and  precious  objects. 

In  this  spacious  house  it  was  neither  hot  nor  cold,  neither 
light  nor  dark,  and  it  was  silent.  The  luxury  of  the  place 
penetrated  the  ignorant  youth  like  a  fragrant  perfume.  He 
knew  it  not,  but  the  spirit  expressed  in  this  great  house  of  the 
modern  City  lord  was  of  the  ancient  tradition  of  Cleopatra 
or  of  the  grand  Louis.  It  was  the  same  spirit  that  once 
breathed  in  the  silent  depths  of  a  Babylonian  palace,  in  the 
house  of  the  Caesar  upon  the  Palatine,  in  the  villas  of  the 
Renaissance.  The  pictures  upon  the  walls,  the  inlaid  cabinets, 
the  old  rugs,  the  precious  trinkets,  had  been  brought  hither 
from  many  lands  of  the  four  quarters  of  the  earth,  and  were 
the  work  of  different  peoples  and  ages.  But  the  spirit  which 
they  created  was  the  same  —  that  spirit  that  always  remains 
the  same,  passing  from  age  to  age,  from  place  to  place,  appear 
ing  wherever  man  is  acquisitive  and  triumphant  and  seeks 
his  joy  in  the  beauty  and  the  splendor  of  possessions.  The 
elements  in  it  vary  with  the  whim  of  taste,  but  the  im 
perial  result  achieved  is  always  the  same. 


ONE  NAME  AMONG  THE  MILLIONS          63 

First  of  all,  space  and  silence.  Here  the  harsh  cry  of  living 
men  is  shut  out,  their  squalid  doings  and  necessities,  for 
within  a  deep  calm  is  shrined  in  space.  Next  beauty  and  the 
pride  of  exclusive  possession,  —  rich  vessels,  antique  orna 
ments  of  color  and  form,  rare  and  precious  stone  and  metal, 
whatever  embodies  costly  material  and  the  skilful  labor  of 
many  hands, — that  is  the  basic  stuff  of  luxury.  And  last  of 
all  the  unseen  spirit — the  spirit  of  selection  and  self-expression 
and  self-enjoyment  through  the  possession  of  things  that 
are  costly  and  enviable.  .  .  . 

The  youth  casting  about  this  house  inquiring  eyes  did  not 
feel  strange  to  the  place.  He  understood.  The  language  was 
new,  but  it  spoke  powerfully  to  him.  In  that  hall  of  the 
rich  man's  home,  new  appetites  awoke  within  him ; 
imagination  leaped  at  the  stimulus  to  his  senses.  This  was 
the  secret  of  the  great  Symbol  in  whose  beams  of  light  he  had 
slept.  "Alexander  Arnold  was  a  clever  fellow  —  he's  be 
come  rich,"  so  old  Grant  had  said  again  and  again.  And  this 
was  what  Success  meant,  in  exact  terms !  Some  day  he  would 
understand  yet  more, — would  perceive  the  invisible  threads 
of  circumstance  linking  that  black  tide  of  labor  upon  the  great 
bridge  with  the  rich  magnificence  about  him.  But  now  he 
saw  merely  the  outer  garment  of  success.  .  .  . 

"Father!"  The  silence  was  broken  by  a  girl's  voice  coming 
from  some  room  within,  —  a  voice  low,  melodious,  perfectly 
cadenced  like  the  silvery  tone  of  a  bell.  It  made  the  youth's 
pulses  beat  faster,  and  he  waited  with  alert  ears.  The 
harsher  voice  of  Arnold,  rough  with  male  quality  and  the  dust 
of  the  streets,  answered.  Again  came  the  murmur  of  the 
woman's  voice,  low  and  laughing,  serene  and  melodious.  It 
was  the  voice  of  the  place  itself,  subtly  chiming  the  spirit  of 
the  house,  and  the  laughing,  melodious  tone  roused  a  vague 
desire  in  the  youth,  as  the  precious  objects  surrounding  him 
had  roused  the  instinct  for  possession.  He  looked  eagerly 


64  A  LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

into  the  dim  vista  of  rooms,  in  hope  that  the  speaker  would 
appear.  But  all  that  he  was  to  know  of  this  new  wonder 
was  that  silvery  tone.  Presently  the  master  of  the  house 
entered  the  hall,  and  seeing  the  youth  where  he  had  left  him, 
recollected  him  with  a  frown  and  motioned  him  to  follow. 

"Well  — what  is  it  you  want?" 

The  youth  looked  into  the  deep  brown  eyes  of  Arnold, 
then  over  his  head  into  the  depths  of  splendor  behind,  and 
he  said  simply :  — 

"Some  place  in  the  City  to  work  —  a  chance!" 

"Old  Grant  sent  you  to  me,  did  he?" 

"Yours  was  the  only  name  he  knew  in  the  City." 

"Your  father  was  an  honest  man,"  Arnold  remarked  medi 
tatively,  a  slight,  cold  smile  wrinkling  his  lips.  Hugh  made 
no  reply,  although  it  was  on  his  tongue  to  explain  that  the 
old  surveyor  was  not  his  father  in  blood.  But  already  the 
City  had  taught  him  to  calculate  the  effect  of  every  little  thing, 
and  he  felt  that  the  great  man's  will  to  serve  him  might  be 
less  were  he  to  know  that  he  dealt  with  a  foundling.  And 
Arnold  was  saying  already :  — 

"Your  father  had  some  business  with  me  once  —  he  was 
an  honest  man." 

He  repeated  the  words  softly,  the  smile  deepening,  as  if 
an  old  memory  had  been  wakened.  Hugh  wondered  that 
he  should  make  so  much  of  this  fact.  To  be  honest  was 
scarcely  a  notable  virtue,  as  David  Grant  had  taught  him. 

"He  always  said  that  you  were  satisfied  with  the  business 
you  did  with  him." 

"Satisfied  —  yes,  I  was  well  satisfied,"  Arnold  replied 
slowly.  "How  is  your  father?" 

"Dead." 

"So!  and  he  left  little,  I  suppose?" 

"Nothing." 

Arnold  looked  away  into  the  avenue  and  was  silent. 


ONE  NAME  AMONG  THE  MILLIONS         65 

"So  you  have  come  to  the  City  to  find  your  chance?"  he 
asked  at  last. 

"Yes!" 

"The  City  is  a  good  place  if  you  have  got  anything  in 
you.  What  can  you  DO?" 

There  was  an  icy  stress  on  the  last  word,  which  said 
to  Hugh  that  the  world  wherein  this  man  moved  was  a 
world  of  power,  and  whoever  would  enter  it  must  offer  deeds, 
not  words,  for  his  credential. 

"I  have  worked  a  little  in  a  bank." 

"In  a  bank?    Good.     That  is  where  I  am  going  now." 

And  Hugh  felt  that  another  revolution  in  the  wheel  of 
his  fate  had  begun  to  turn.  It  was  the  same  avenue  which 
they  descended  swiftly  in  Arnold's  carriage  that  he 
had  followed  a  short  time  before,  but  he  looked  upon  its 
thronged  scene  with  new  eyes,  the  eager  eyes  of  coming 
opportunity.  .  .  . 

One  more  speech,  he  remembered,  the  taciturn  man  by  his 
side  uttered  that  memorable  first  meeting.  As  the  carriage 
slowed  in  the  press  of  traffic  in  the  crowded  lower  quarter  of 
the  City,  Arnold  turned  to  him  abruptly:  — 

"You  said  your  father  died  poor?" 

"Yes." 

"He  might  have  made  a  fortune." 

"He  did  not  care  for  money." 

The  contemptuous  glance  from  the  brown  eyes  discom 
fited  the  youth  so  that  he  withdrew  into  his  corner  of  the 
carriage. 

"Never  knew  a  man  who  didn't  —  if  he  could  get  it!" 

Thereafter  Alexander  Arnold  was  silent.  The  youth  felt 
for  him  that  repulsion  which  the  great  man  inspired  even 
among  his  associates,  rich  and  powerful  men  like  himself. 
It  was  a  feeling  partly  of  fear  before  a  relentless  will  and  an 
intelligence  unsoftened  by  any  discoverable  emotion.  He 


66  A   LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

began  to  wonder  at  his  own  audacity  in  approaching  this 
cold  man  of  power  and  asking  something  of  him  for  nothing! 

In  one  of  the  narrow  walled  canons  of  the  lower  City  the 
carriage  stopped  before  a  grimy  building  on  whose  lower 
windows  was  painted  in  broad  gilt  letters,  —  THE  BANK 
OF  THE  REPUBLIC.  Arnold  descended  from  his  carriage,  and 
with  a  grunt  invited  the  youth  to  follow  him.  As  Hugh 
entered  the  lofty  banking-room  with  its  worn  marble  floors 
and  severe  wooden  screen,  he  had  a  strange  thrill.  This,  he 
felt,  was  to  be  that  point  of  vantage  for  him  in  the  vast 
arena  to  which  he  had  come.  The  Bank  of  the  Republic, 
then  in  its  beginning,  but  already  known  and  feared  through 
out  the  great  City  as  the  instrument,  the  weapon,  of  Arnold 
and  his  allies,  —  "the  Republic  crowd,"  as  they  were  com 
monly  called,  —  would  be  to  him  more  than  home  and  friends. 
The  Bank  was  to  become  almost  a  human  creature,  an  actor 
in  the  tale  of  his  life,  growing  and  changing,  as  he  grew  and 
changed,  absorbing  weaker  rivals,  dominating,  —  shifting 
itself  from  this  cramped  corner  of  an  office  building  to  that 
wonderful  temple  of  marble  and  bronze  erected  in  the  heart 
of  the  City  by  its  able  president  as  a  monument  to  himself. 

At  this  time,  at  least  on  the  surface,  it  was  merely  a  bank 
like  another,  thronged  at  this  hour  by  busy  men  waiting 
before  the  little  windows  to  transact  their  affairs.  Behind 
these  windows  worked  deft  clerks  among  the  piles  of 
notes  and  gold  and  papers.  Arnold  stalked  through  the 
crowded  room,  with  neither  glance  nor  word  of  greeting, 
though  many  observed  him  curiously,  and  the  clerks  finger 
ing  money  looked  up  to  see  him  pass.  The  youth,  noting  all, 
realized  again  the  sensation  of  power  which  this  man  radiated. 

At  the  door  of  the  inner  office,  which  his  guide  pushed 
open  brusquely,  Hugh  waited,  while  the  great  man,  nodding 
curtly  to  the  group  gathered  about  a  table,  took  a  proffered 
chair  at  their  head.  At  once  the  conference  in  which  these 


ONE  NAME  AMONG  THE  MILLIONS         67 

men  were  engaged  was  resumed,  and  Hugh,  sinking  into  the 
chair  by  the  door,  forgotten  and  ignored,  was  free  to  watch  and 
listen.  There  was  nothing  of  special  mark  about  the  men 
grouped  around  that  table  in  the  office  of  the  bank  president, 
nothing  in  their  neat  dress,  their  subdued  tones,  and  in 
different  behavior  to  indicate  their  importance.  Nevertheless, 
the  youth  knew  by  some  swift  instinct  that  he  was  in  the  pres 
ence  of  Power,  just  as  before  in  the  rich  man's  house  he  had 
felt  the  spirit  of  Beauty  and  Luxury.  His  senses,  stimulated 
here  as  they  had  been  there,  told  him  that  the  connection  was 
close  and  sure  between  this  Power  and  those  Possessions! 

He  never  forgot  the  faces  of  those  men  gathered  this  fine 
June  morning  in  the  private  room  at  the  bank,  and  the 
time  came  when  he  knew  most  of  them  personally  and 
knew  what  each  one  meant  in  the  life  of  his  day.  The 
handsome  youngish  man,  who  had  risen  on  Arnold's  entrance 
and  greeted  the  great  one  deferentially,  as  a  master,  was 
Oliver  Whiting  —  the  youngest  bank  president  in  the  City. 
Some  called  him  "Arnold's  man,"  but  it  was  in  other  terms 
that  President  Butterfield  unctuously  described  the  banker 
when  the  university  bestowed  upon  him — then  a  cabinet  offi 
cer —  the  dignity  of  its  honorary  degree.  "Banker,  statesman, 
philanthropist,  public-spirited  citizen,"  the  university  presi 
dent  would  say!  The  man  at  his  right,  the  dapper  little 
fellow  with  glossy  black  hair  and  ferret  eyes,  with  a  flower 
in  his  buttonhole,  was  none  other  than  Michael  Peter  Ravi, 
then  just  emerging  from  that  black  obscurity  that  no  keen 
reporter  was  ever  able  fully  to  penetrate.  Already  he  had 
his  hand  upon  the  great  Atlantic  and  Pacific  Railroad.  Beside 
Arnold  sat  another  man  of  mark,  Thomas  Talbot,  —  the 
legal  hand  of  power.  His  also  was  a  smooth-shaven  face, 
broad  and  massive,  with  fine  brow  beneath  gray  curling 
hair,  and  sensitive  lips.  Scholar  and  writer,  he  might  have 
been  on  the  bench  or  in  the  university,  in  other  days,  but 


68  A   LIFE  FOR  A   LIFE 

he  had  taken  the  worn  path  in  an  age  when  all  the  talents 
are  plainly  ticketed  with  the  price  mark  of  success.  Next  to 
Arnold  he  was  the  ablest  of  these  men,  and  he  knew  it. 

These  gentlemen  discussed  their  affairs  in  low  tones,  with 
no  gestures,  and  many  pauses  that  spoke  louder  than  words. 
What  they  said  mattered  little  to  the  listening  youth.  He 
was  ignorant  of  the  terms,  —  stocks,  bonds,  credit,  panic, 
receivership,  reorganization.  What  mattered  it  to  him!  he 
was  not  even  aware  of  the  troublous  times  in  the  country, — 
the  lethargic  state  of  business.  It  might  well  have  been 
some  petty  affairs  of  banking  business,  traffic  in  money. 
Instead  it  was  the  far-reaching  plan,  the  stealthy  stretching 
forth  of  the  hand  of  power  at  the  moment  of  opportunity  to 
grasp  that  which  it  coveted.  A  great  railroad  property, 
with  its  thousands  of  laborers,  its  many  owners,  was  the 
prize  for  their  sleight  of  hand.  "  Credit,  reorganization, 
receivership/'  —  they  were  the  dull  names  of  the  modern 
powder  and  shot  and  shell.  The  youth,  wide-eyed,  listened 
and  wondered.  Some  day  that  great  property,  the  Atlantic 
and  Pacific  Railroad,  would  be  legally  transferred  from 
certain  weak  owners  to  these  strong  men,  and  Michael  Peter 
would  be  chosen  satrap  to  govern  their  new  •  possession. 
Another  game  than  that  played  on  the  green  beside  the 
river,  with  its  own  secret  plays,  and  intricate  rules,  but  with 
the  same  end,  always  the  same !  .  .  . 

At  last  the  meeting  broke  up,  and  the  men  with  brief 
salutations  went  their  ways  about  other  affairs.  Arnold 
stayed  to  speak  with  the  banker,  and  Hugh,  still  sitting  be 
side  the  door,  believed  . himself  forgotten  and  was  about  to 
creep  away.  But  the  great  man,  turning  and  perceiving  him, 
said  to  the  banker:  — 

"Can  you  find  something  for  this  young  man  to  do  in  the 
bank,  Mr.  Whiting?  He  wants  to  become  a  financier!" 
And  then,  with  the  same  dry  smile,  he  added,  "I  once 


ONE  NAME  AMONG  THE  MILLIONS         69 

had  some  dealings  with  his  father.  He  was  a  perfectly 
honest  man." 

Without  further  word  or  greeting  to  the  youth,  Arnold 
departed,  and  the  banker,  scarcely  looking  at  Hugh,  touched 
a  bell,  and  to  the  clerk  who  responded  said,  "Take  him  to  Mr. 
Venable." 

Thus,  like  a  parcel,  the  youth  was  transferred  to  a  little 
wire  cage  where  a  middle-aged  man  was  seated  before  a 
mass  of  commercial  papers.  After  a  time  he  glanced  up  at 
the  figure  standing  before  him,  and  Hugh  was  aware  of  the 
pleasant  blue  eyes  with  a  kindly  humor  in  them  and  the 
sympathetic  curve  of  the  large  mouth. 

"Ever  seen  a  bank  before,  my  son?"  Mr.  Venable  inquired. 

Waiving  all  reply,  he  rose  and  conducted  him  by  a  little 
iron  ladder  to  a  narrow  gallery  that  circled  above  the  general 
banking-room.  Here  in  a  few  feet  of  space,  elbowed  by  bus 
tling  clerks,  sorting  thick  bundles  of  papers,  he  began  the 
business  of  life  in  the  Bank  of  the  Republic. 

He  was  twenty  years  of  age. 


THE   LAW  OF  LIFE 

AT  night  the  j^outh  drifted  back  to  the  attic  room  opposite 
the  golden  sign.  It  was  the  one  familiar  spot  in  the  whole 
City.  To  his  knock  a  hearty  voice  called,  "Come  hi!" 

On  the  bed  lay  sprawled  the  large  figure  of  the  bearded 
man,  his  felt  hat  crushed  beneath  his  head.  There  were 
three  other  men  in  the  room,  seated  about  the  wooden  table 
in  attitudes  of  heated  argument.  At  Hugh's  entrance  they 
became  silent  until  the  host  waved  his  hand,  motioning  the 
newcomer  to  a  seat  beside  the  window.  A  short,  thick-set 
man,  with  a  strong  black  mustache  and  a  number  of  gold 
teeth,  which  protruded  when  he  talked,  tilted  back  in  his 
chair,  one  fist  resting  on  the  table.  He  said  slowly :  — 

"What  the  hell  is  the  use  of  jawing  here  all  night?  You 
can  take  it  or  leave  it!" 

He  spoke  directly  to  a  thin  man  with  nervous,  wrinkled 
face,  sparsely  covered  by  a  sandy  beard. 

"We'll  get  out  an  injunction!" 

"Try  it,"  the  thick-set  fellow  replied,  with  an  ugly  sneer. 
"The  men  will  not  go  back  until  you  settle." 

The  nervous  man  rose  and  brought  his  fist  down  on  the 
table,  in  strong  affirmation.  At  this  point  the  third  man, 
younger  than  the  other  two,  and  more  fashionably  dressed, 
who  had  been  listening  intently,  stroking  his  fine  mustache 
with  the  handle  of  a  little  cane,  laid  a  hand  on  the  nervous 
one's  shoulder  and  drew  him  aside  for  a  whispered  confer 
ence.  The  thin  man  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  shook  his 
head,  then  half  angrily  exclaimed:  — 

70 


THE   LAW  OF  LIFE  71 

"How  do  we  know  he'll  stay  bought  when  he  gets  the 
money?" 

At  this  the  thick-set  man  winked  at  the  host,  and  the 
latter  smiled,  a  curious  smile,  the  youth  thought. 

"You  can  give  the  stuff  to  Mr.  Wethered  here,"  the  thick 
set  one  suggested.  But  their  host  shook  his  head. 

"It  would  be  better  to  put  it  in  the  bank,"  the  younger 
one  proposed,  and  then  they  discussed  the  details  of  dis 
posing  of  some  large  sum  of  money  which  was  contingently 
to  be  paid  to  the  thick-set  man  on  the  performance  of  an 
agreement  mysterious  to  the  youth.  Finally  it  was  ar 
ranged  that  the  dollars  in  question  should  be  lodged  in  the 
Bank  of  the  Republic  for  a  stated  period,  and  the  nervous 
one,  grasping  his  hat,  started  for  the  door.  Before  leaving  he 
turned  and,  addressing  the  thick-set  fellow,  who  was  com 
placently  smiling,  exclaimed  with  anger :  — 

"You  dirty  rascal!"  and  nodding  at  Wethered,  he  added, 
"and  you  are  his  partner!" 

"Oh,"  replied  the  other,  still  smiling,  "as  for  names  — 
what  are  you?" 

The  thin  man  threw  open  the  door  and  banged  it  to  behind 
him. 

"I  had  him  there,  the  damned  hypocrite !"  the  thick-set  man 
remarked,  lighting  a  large  cigar.  "He'll  keep  his  talky 
mouth  shut  after  this.  He's  a  stiff  one,  but  he  came  up  to 
time."  Finding  no  response,  he  too  took  his  hat  and  pre 
pared  to  go,  saying  to  Wethered,  "If  you  ever  want  any 
little  job  in  my  line,  come  and  see  me."  With  another 
broad  smile  he  left,  and  then  the  third  man,  who  had  been 
staring  out  of  the  window  abstractedly  all  the  time,  remarked 
hastily :  — 

"Tremendously  obliged  to  you,  I'm  sure!  It  was  hard 
work  getting  the  old  man  here,  and  I  thought  it  was  all  over 
when  Wright  put  the  price  up.  You  see,  he's  fought  Wright's 


72  A  LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

methods  for  years,  but  he  was  caught  —  you  understand? 
They  got  after  him  at  the  bank;  he  was  too  heavily  loaded." 

Wethered  nodded. 

"Do  you  think  Wright  will  stay  bought  this  time?" 

"Yes!" 

"Well,  it  means  a  lot  to  me!"  the  young  man  said  in  easy 
confidence.  "I  don't  know  where  I  should  have  been  if  we 
had  failed." 

"Now  you'll  be  able  to  marry  the  girl?"  scoffed  the  big 
bearded  man,  "and  get  that  little  country  house  you've 
been  looking  at." 

"Oh,  it  straightens  things.  .  .  .  Well,  I  must  be  going. 
Awfully  obliged,  old  man!"  He  pulled  on  a  pair  of  light 
gloves,  paused,  and  looked  meaningly  at  Hugh.  "It  mustn't 
get  out,  eh?" 

"He  can't  understand  —  even  if  he  wanted  to  tell!"  said 
the  host.  With  another  farewell  the  young  man  hastened 
away,  and  his  tripping  steps  might  be  heard  far  down  the 
uncarpeted  stairs. 

Wethered  leapt  to  his  feet  and  laughed  loudly.  At  the 
moment  a  flood  of  light  burst  into  the  room  from  the  illumi 
nated  sign. 

"My  friend  Ellgood  should  have  stayed  a  moment  longer 
to  shine  in  the  glory  of  the  torch.  He  is  a  faithful  disciple 
of  friend  Gossom!" 

"What  does  it  mean?"  asked  Hugh,  with  puzzled  face. 

"The  little  affair  you  have  just  witnessed?  A  comedy,  a 
tragedy,  —  what  the  law  calls  'compounding  a  felony.'  That 
fellow  who  got  the  money  ordered  a  strike  on  the  big  build 
ing  you  have  seen  at  the  corner  below.  He  was  paid  to  do  it 
by  the  business  rivals  of  the  gentleman  who  left  first  —  the 
thin,  nervous  man.  The  bank  was  pressing  him,  too,  and  in 
order  to  save  himself,  he  has  just  consented  to  a  crime  — 
paid  Luke  Wright  twice  what  the  others  gave  him  in  order 


THE   LAW  OF  LIFE  73 

that  he  may  be  permitted  to  complete  his  contract  and  get 
his  money.  My  young  friend  is  an  architect,  Ellgood,  who 
brought  them  together,  or  rather  got  me  to  find  Wright.  He 
wants  his  money,  too,  for  he  has  his  ambitions,  and  for  them 
he  too  needs  money,  much  money!" 

"But  — "  the  youth  stammered. 

"  I  have  been  party  to  a  crime.  That  doesn't  trouble 
.me.  There  is  no  villain  to  the  piece,  or  all  are  villains, 
as  you  look  at  it.  That  fellow  Luke  Wright  was  a  good 
carpenter  once,  an  honest  man,  but  he  found  a  way  to  make 
better  wages  than  three  dollars  a  day.  The  employers  bought 
him.  And  the  contractor,  who  has  just  bought  his  right  to 
do  business  from  the  blackguard,  got  his  start  by  cheating 
the  City  on  contracts.  As  for  Ellgood,  poor  man,  he  has 
always  been  poor,  and  he  wants  to  marry  —  besides,  he's 
one  of  Gossom's  pupils.  He  means  to  'arrive/  as  he  calls 
it." 

"But,"  said  Hugh,  "is  there  no  law?" 

"  My  boy,  there  is  the  policeman  —  be  careful  you  don't 
take  five  dollars  from  your  boss  or  get  drunk!" 

"And  you?"  Hugh  ventured.     Wethered  smiled. 

"Have  you  seen  the  line  of  hungry  men  down  there  in  the 
square?  Times  are  hard,  and  building  is  scarce.  To 
morrow  when  you  go  down  the  street,  you  will  see  the  men 
at  work  up  aloft  in  the  steel  cage.  Well,  isn't  that  worth  a 
little  crime?" 

The  bewildered  youth  was  silent,  thinking  his  simple 
thoughts  about  a  world  where  two  wrongs  apparently  made 
the  only  obtainable  right.  Meanwhile  the  bearded  one 
started  preparations  for  supper,  talking  cheerily  as  he  brewed 
the  coffee  and  cut  the  meat. 

"So  you  came  back  to  roost?  Good.  Stay  with  me,  and 
I  will  show  you  a  slice  of  the  universe,  my  boy." 

And  turning  to  the  window,  knife  in  hand,  demonstrating 


74  A  LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

with  it  upon  the  open  horizon,  "See!"  he  exclaimed,  "the 
"four  quarters  of  the  world!  The  tops  of  those  high  buildings 
mark  the  bank  quarter,  where  the  engine  is  stoked.  There 
is  friend  Gossom's  establishment  just  opposite,  and  beneath 
is  the  loft  where  the  sewing  girls  labor.  Two  poles  of  the 
universal  magnet!  Now  look  farther  to  the  right;  the 
gray  stone  building  back  to  back  with  the  Success  School. 
That  is  the  home  of  the  City  Good  Deeds  Society.  It's  a 
x  |  quiet,  solid,  proper  sort  of  place.  The  GOOD  WILL  of  the  com 
munity  has  its  business  offices  in  there,  and  they  make  the 
poultice  for  the  social  sores.  Any  winter  day  you  can  see 
half-clothed  men  and  women  slink  in  and  out  of  those  doors 
with  shamefaced  air.  That  busy  place  helps  more  of  our 
kindly  people  to  sleep  well  o'  nights  than  the  police  station. 
They  think  that  'somebody  is  doing  something'  for  their 
unfortunate  neighbors,  and  they  can  turn  comfortably  in 
their  beds  and  forget  them.  .  .  .  There!  Turn  your  nose 
this  way,  and  you  will  smell  the  pleasant  odor  from  the  sweet 
factory  on  the  next  block.  A  whole  acre  of  confectionery,  — 
one  of  our  most  flourishing  minor  industries.  And  by  the 
way,  that's  where  the  shirt-maker  gets  that  glucose 
compound  he  serves  out  in  fancy  boxes  at  the  end  of  the 
week  to  the  girls  that  have  kept  up  the  pace.  The  hope  of 
those  few  dozens  of  adulterated  sweets  will  keep  the  little 
fingers  moving  more  nimbly  for  sixty  long  hours.  Think 
of  that!  The  great  principle  of  stimulus.  .  .  .  And  the 
candy  factory  is  another  sort  of  sweet  shop,  too.  Some  of 
the  men  in  Ellgood's  club  on  the  square  over  there  have  dis 
covered  that  more  than  one  kind  of  sweet  is  housed  beneath 
its  ample  roof.  .  .  .  Behind  us  is  the  tenement  district, 
where  the  workers  are  packed  in,  block  after  block,  five,  ten, 
to  the  room.  Here  we  sit,  on  the  marge,  betwixt  those  who 
have  profited  from  the  lesson  of  Gossom's  sign  and  those  who 
will  never  profit  from  anything.  Stay  with  me,  lad,  and  use 


THE   LAW  OF   LIFE  75 

your  eyes  and  ears.  You  will  get  free  many  a  lesson  in  the 
great  experience!" 

He  waved  Hugh  to  the  table  where  supper  was  prepared. 

"And  what  is  the  great  experience?"  Hugh  asked. 

"Life!  .  .  .  I  take  it  you  have  begun  yours  to-day.  What 
luck  for  you  in  the  great  City?" 

Hugh  stated  the  simple  result  of  the  day  —  his  job  in  the 
Bank  of  the  Republic. 

"Found  your  place  so  quickly?"  the  bearded  one  com 
mented  jocularly.  "And  chosen  Finance  for  your  career? 
Good!  It  is  the  most  promising  ladder  these  days  if  you 
have  nimble  feet.  Do  you  see  yourself  in  the  president's 
room  or  sitting  behind  a  pile  of  currency  at  the  cashier's  desk?" 

"I've  got  a  job,  that's  all."  To  tell  the  truth,  he  had  been 
thinking  in  his  few  idle  moments  of  that  wonderful  room  in 
the  rich  man's  house  and  the  silvery  tone  of  the  woman's 
voice  he  had  heard  there. 

"No  doubt,"  said  his  host,  munching  his  food  with  good 
appetite,  "you  have  read  your  Franklin,  or  at  least  my  friend 
Gossom's  imitation  of  him,  and  you  are  thinking  that  Thrift 
and  Prudence  and  Purpose  —  with  a  few  more  capital-letter 
virtues  —  must  lead  to  prosperity  and  fame  via  the  Bank." 

"I  haven't  thought  much,"  the  youth  confessed.  "It's 
only  ten  a  week." 

"And  they  tied  you  into  the  machine  for  ten  a  week! 
And  you  hope  for  something  better?  They'll  keep  that 
hope  dangling  at  your  nose  for  forty  years!" 

"It's  something,"  the  youth  protested.  "Haven't  you  got 
a  job?" 

"I  —  a  job!"  The  bearded  one  laughed  heartily.  "Yes, 
my  child,  I  have  a  very  big  job  —  the  world." 

Hugh,  concluding  that  his  host  was  but  a  harmless  lunatic, 
ate  his  food  in  hungry  silence,  while  the  bearded  one  took  up 
the  theme  suggested  and  played  upon  it,  as  was  his  wont. 


76  A   LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

"I'd  never  take  a  job  at  ten  or  ten  thousand  a  week.  I'd 
never  bind  myself  to  the  machine." 

"One  must  live!" 

"Live?  What  does  it  cost  to  live  as  I  do?"  He  waved 
his  fork  about  the  bare  room.  "That's  where  I  get  ahead  of 
'em  all.  It  costs  me  so  little  to  live  they  can't  lay  hands  on 
me.  It's  fear,  my  boy,  that  keeps  most  poor  devils  at  their 
mill,  —  fear  and  children.  As  long  as  you  keep  one  little 
fear  in  your  heart,  lad,  you  are  a  coward  and  a  weakling; 
your  masters  will  own  you.  Keep  away  from  women,  and 
throttle  every  fear,  and  they  can't  get  hold  of  you.  Remember 
that  when  you  see  the  bread-line  down  below  some  cold 
day." 

(/  Hugh  ate  on  in  puzzled  silence,  as  always,  not  understanding 
a  tithe  of  the  bearded  one's  words. 

"So  you  brought  up  at  the  Bank  of  the  Republic,"  Wethered 
mused  with  a  strange  smile.  "That's  the  bank  where  Luke 
Wright's  filthy  dollars  will  be  kept  for  him.  And  that's 
the  bank  which  is  secretly  backing  the  rivals  of  the  poor  devil 
of  a  contractor  you  saw  here,  a  big  corporation  that  has  most 
of  the  work  in  the  City  and  wants  it  all.  It's  the  bank  that 
is  trying  to  freeze  McHenry  out  —  but  those  are  little  things. 

I  The  real  work  nobody  knows  until  it  is  done.  Watch  your 
superiors,  boy  —  especially  t'he  big  boss,  Oliver  Whiting. 
He  knows  his  world  better  than  most.  He  is  arriving.  You 
will  read  his  advice  in  Gossom's  pamphlet  — '  Hints  for 
Success/  —  and  he  will  talk  to  you  at  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  He  is 
a  good  man,  prudent  and  public-spirited,  and  his  name  is 
often  in  the  public  print.  But  ask  him  how  he  made  his 
millions  as  a  bank  president." 

"I  don't  suppose  he  would  tell  me." 

His  host  pushed  back  from  the  table  and  lighted  his  pipe. 

"No;  but  some  day  you  may  understand!" 

"Anyway,"  yawned  the  youth,  "it's  a  job  and  a  start!" 


THE  LAW  OF   LIFE  77 

Wethered  waved  his  pipe  at  the  great  sign,  which  beamed 
unwinkingly  upon  them.  "  They've  got  you ! " 

The  youth's  eyes  were  raised  above  the  symbol,  and  in 
the  soft  heavens  he  beheld  the  winding  river,  the  marshes, 
the  brooding  sea  at  evening.  His  companion  stroked  his 
big  beard  and  murmured :  — 

"Eat  or  be  eaten!  .  .  .  You  are  tied  into  the  loom,  and 
few  there  are  strong  enough  to  tear  themselves  free  from  the 
industrial  machine,  once  it  has  its  grip  upon  them.  As  I 
have  freed  myself!"  He  drew  himself  to  the  full  of  his  gaunt 
shabby  height,  but  the  youth  could  see  in  him  no  special 
matter  for  pride.  "I  would  not  conform  —  and  I  am  an 
outcast!" 

And  to  the  youth's  inquiring  eyes,  he  answered,  "You 
are  thinking  that  there  is  a  way  of  pleasant  compromise,  — 
to  own  your  soul  and  eat  your  cake.  But  the  hour  will  come 
when  you  will  understand  the  truth  of  my  words  —  that  he 
who  will  not  eat  his  brother  must  be  eaten." 

The  broad  beam  of  yellow  light  fell  between  the  two  men, 
and  with  clenched  hand  raised  in  defiance  to  the  burning 
Symbol,  the  bearded  one  affirmed  solemnly :  — 

"The  law  of  this  world  is  a  life  for  a  life." 

"A  life  for  a  life!"  the  youth  repeated  questioningly,  and 
without  knowing  why,  he  shrank  away  from  the  bearded 
stranger,  even  as  in  the  carriage  that  morning  he  had  shrunk 
from  Alexander  Arnold. 


VI 

THE   ANAKCH  AND   HIS   FRIENDS 

AND  yet  from  the  cloudy  horizon  of  those  early  years  that 
was  the  figure  which  emerged  most  distinctly  — the  shabby 
bearded  fellow,  his  mouth  full  of  wild  speech  and  ironic  laugh 
ter,  his  heart  glowing  with  hate.  Assuming  towards  the  youth 
the  pose  of  guide  and  teacher,  he  remained  always  a  stranger, 
mysterious  in  his  comings  and  goings,  half  mad  at  the  least 
in  word  and  deed.  In  those  after  years  of  prosperity,  borne 
by  the  rushing  tide  of  action,  Hugh  Grant  might  well  wonder 
at  the  fate  that  had  brought  him  first  to  anchor  here  in  the 
attic  chamber  opposite  the  golden  symbol  of  success,  and 
linked  his  ignorant  youth  with  this  rebel  and  his  friends  — 
strange  crew!  But  in  the  full  survey  of  his  life  he  would 
understand  the  import  of  the  accident. 

The  shabby  quarter  about  the  old  square,  just  off  the  stream 
of  City  traffic,  midway  between  trade  and  squalor,  soon  grew 
to  have  a  friendly  aspect,  something  more  of  the  face  of  home 
than  any  other  corner  of  the  great  City.  The  mansions  around 
the  square,  worn  and  tottering  to  their  inevitable  decline,  had 
the  fixed  face  of  age,  survivors  of  a  settled  order  of  life  less 
harsh  and  crowded  than  the  present.  And  the  landmarks 
which  Wethered  had  pointed  out,  each  had  its  significance  for 
the  youth,  became  in  its  way  a  part  of  him  —  the  Success 
School,  the  Sewing  Loft,  the  Sweet  Factory,  the  Good 
Deeds  Office.  .  .  . 

Of  the  many  faces  that  belonged  to  this  time  some  utterly 
faded  as  time  sped;  others  became  submerged  to  appear  again 

78 


THE  ANARCH  AND  HIS  FRIENDS  79 

in  later  years  at  other  points  of  contact.  A  few  ran  side  by 
side  throughout  the  weaving  course  of  his  life.  And  each 
brought  to  the  growing  youth  something  of  knowledge  and 
example. 

Ellgood,  the  architect,  came  tapping  occasionally  at  the 
door,  usually  seeking  for  something.  There  seemed  to  be  an 
old  bond  between  these  two  unlike  men,  —  the  shabby  An 
arch  and  the  smart  young  architect.  But  the  bearded  one 
treated  him  with  open  scorn. 

"Have  you  married  that  rich  girl  yet?  "  he  would  ask,  —  ex 
plaining  later  to  Hugh,  "  Ellgood  has  been  dangling  after  the 
daughters  of  the  rich  ever  since  he  landed  here  from  Paris. 
The  arts  are  feminine  —  parasitic." 

The  youth  was  attracted  by  the  handsome  young  architect, 
with  his  air  of  pleasant  worldliness.  It  was  he  who  called  the 
bearded  one  " Anarch."  "How  are  you,  old  Anarch?"  he 
would  say,  with  a  subtle  accent  of  contempt.  "Bread  and 
cheese  enough,  eh?"  And  Wethered  would  retort:  "How 
is  the  market  for  champagne  and  plover?  Are  you  still 
boarding  free  along  the  avenue?  "  The  sneer  did  not  ruffle  the 
architect's  good  temper.  And  when  Hugh  met  him  stepping 
into  a  cab  in  front  of  his  club  on  the  square,  dangling 
a  cane  with  a  long  coat  and  a  high  silk  hat,  like  a 
story-book  young  man,  he  had  a  sneaking  pleasure  in 
the  little  nod  of  recognition  the  architect  bestowed  upon 
him.  The  Anarch  called  him  "another  case  of  degenera 
tion  like  Luke  Wright,"  but  his  bitter  prophecy  seemed 
gainsaid  in  the  event.  For,  although  Ellgood  married  the 
rich  man's  daughter,  as  expected,  he  became  a  notable  archi 
tect.  He  it  was  who  designed  the  florid  museum  which 
Alexander  Arnold  was  induced  to  bestow  upon  his  fellow-citi 
zens,  —  "in  recognition  of  his  debt  to  Society."  And  it  was 
Ellgood,  also,  who  designed  that  classic  temple  of  pure  marble 
in  which  the  banker  Whiting  finally  housed  the  great  Bank  of 


80  A  LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

the  Republic.  His  masterpiece,  that.  And  there  were  many 
other  notable  buildings  by  his  hand,  —  rich  men's  houses, 
clubs  and  great  office  buildings.  Perhaps  he  knew  his  busi 
ness,  these  days  of  flowering  force,  by  a  surer  instinct  than  the 
Anarch.  "A  talent,"  the  bearded  one  admitted  grudgingly, 
in  the  face  of  his  growing  fame,  "but  a  dead  soul."  And  that 
day  years  afterward,  in  the  time  of  his  tumultuous  prosperity, 
when  Hugh  saw  the  architect,  wrapped  in  furs  like  a  bear, 
swiftly  whirling  in  his  great  car  down  the  avenue,  dull-eyed 
and  flabby-cheeked,  the  man  Hugh  Grant  then  understood 
what  the  Anarch  had  meant :  he  saw  the  taint  of  Ellgood's 
florid  art,  the  taint  of  his  greedy  soul.  For  this  reason,  per 
haps,  he  was  best  fitted  to  build  for  a  predatory  age ! 

There  was  another  artist  who  frequented  the  attic  room, 
for  the  most  part  a  mere  silent  listener,  like  the  youth,  to  the 
wordy  flood.  He  would  sit  before  the  fire,  smoking  a  black 
pipe,  and  from  time  to  time  spit  with  smiling  emphasis  into 
the  hot  coals.  He  was  a  sculptor,  —  a  heavy  man 
with  muddy  complexion  and  a  thick,  stubby  nose,  alto 
gether  homely,  and  shabbier  even  than  the  bearded  one  him 
self.  The  Anarch  wholly  approved  and  admired  this  ugly 
follower  of  the  Arts. 

" There  is  a  great  man!"  he  proclaimed.  "None  of  your 
parasite  Ellgoods,  men  of  the  world,  the  rich  world.  That 
one  can  starve!" 

Hugh  laughed  at  the  absurd  praise.  What  virtue 
was  there  in  starving  ?  Only  weaklings  and  fools 
had  to  starve  in  this  thriving  land,  so  he  had  been 
taught.  When  the  Anarch  took  him  one  day  to  the 
black  hole  in  an  abandoned  loft  near  the  water-side 
where  the  sculptor  worked  —  a  cold,  gray,  barnlike  place 
—  and  he  beheld  there  those  huge  masses  of  clay  which  to 
his  unknowing  eye  seemed  as  ugly  as  the  sculptor  himself, 
as  gray  and  cheerless  as  the  loft  itself,  he  thought  it  was 


THE  ANARCH  AND  HIS  FRIENDS  81 

small  wonder  the  man  should  starve.  " What's  that?"  he 
asked,  pointing  to  the  colossal  figure  in  the  centre,  swathed 
in  wrappings  of  cloth,  from  which  emerged  a  huge,  rude  head. 
"That,"  said  the  sculptor,  grinning  at  the  youth,  "is  the 
spirit  of  your  country.  See!"  -he  unwound  the  cloths, — 
"the  chin,  the  lips,  the  hands!"  Thick  lips  protruded  from 
a  heavy  jaw,  and  large,  hungry,  curving  paws  were  slightly 
raised. 

"Great!"  acclaimed  the  Anarch.  "  You  have  said  it 
all  —  almost  all."  But  the  youth  denied  it  in  his  heart, 
and  silently  turned  away. 

"Take  him  to  see  some  of  those  smooth-limbed  women  at 
the  show!"  the  sculptor  laughed,  re-covering  his  figure  with 
the  cloths.  "That  would  be  more  to  his  taste." 

The  Anarch  eulogized  as  they  left  the  loft.  "There's  a 
man  who  makes  no  compromises,  no  concessions  to  circum 
stances.  He  can't  get  his  things  exhibited  —  can't  put  'em 
into  bronze  and  marble.  So  he  starves  and  works  on  for  his 
idea."  He  tapped  his  broad  breast  dramatically.  "The 
thing  here,  within!"  It  would  have  been  wiser,  the  youth 
thought,  if  he  had  accepted  Ellgood's  offer  to  do  a  fountain 
for  a  large  garden  in  a  rich  man's  estate.  But  the  time  came 
when  he  stood  before  the  sculptor's  masterpiece  at  the  en 
trance  to  a  public  park  in  a  western  city;  in  the  bronze 
mounted  figure,  with  stern,  commanding,  and  yet  sweet 
features  he  recognized  a  kinship  with  that  misshapen  colossus 
in  clay.  And  in  the  presence  of  that  piece  of  beauty  which 
had  emerged  at  last  from  chaos  and  ugliness,  he  knew  the 
mysterious  way  of  truth,  struggling  to  light  from  dark  and 
dreadful  conception.  .  .  . 

A  queer,  confused  period  of  education,  all  this,  to  the  youth 
who  listened  to  the  flow  of  opinion  and  belief  in  the  attic 
chamber.  The  amazing  discovery  came  to  him  gradually 
that  this  life  which  he  had  taken  for  granted,  with  its  sin> 


82  A   LIFE   FOR  A   LIFE 

pie  rules,  was  not  fixed,  but  always  in  a  flux  of  change,  for 
good  or  evil,  and  that  to  thinking  men  it  was  not  satisfactory 
as  it  was.  There  was  something  wrong,  a  deep-seated 
evil  in  things.  All  this  theory  seemed  to  him  nonsense;  he 
felt  that  in  his  perch  in  the  gallery  of  the  Bank  he  was 
dealing  with  realities,  not  words! 

Yet  cold  winter  nights,  when  the  sleet  storms  blew  through 
the  streets,  and  the  bread-line  lengthened  in  front  of  the 
Good  Deeds  office,  when  the  winds  threatened  to  sweep 
from  Gossom's  roof  the  shining  Symbol  of  Success,  it  was  a 
friendly  place,  the  low  chamber  under  the  eaves  with  its 
glowing  fire.  Such  nights  the  bearded  host  would  brew  a 
jug  of  fragrant,  spirituous  liquor  that  set  tongues  wagging 
faster,  stirred  furious  argument,  until  in  the  cloudy  atmos 
phere  of  tobacco  smoke  the  youth  would  fall  asleep. 

"What  a  day!"  one  of  the  young  men  from  the  Good 
Deeds  Office  exclaimed  on  such  a  night,  stamping  the 
frozen  sleet  from  his  feet.  "We've  been  rushed  to-day  — 
four  hundred  and  sevtenty-three  cases,  outdoor  relief,  and 
the  City  threatened  with  a  co.al  famine." 

"The  coal  men  must  pay  themselves  for  the  cost  of  that 
little  misunderstanding  they  had  with  their  men  last  year," 
the  Anarch  sneered. 

"And  all  building  is  at  a  standstill,"  offered  Ellgood,  who 
happened  in. 

"Hard  times"  — "bad  crops"  — "strikes" —"tariff"  — 
"lack  of  confidence  "— bubbled  the  chorus.  "Which 
means,"  the  Anarch  thundered,  "that  the  strong  have  sold 
out  and  are  playing  the  other  side.  It's  always  so,  —  a 
period  of  boom  and  work,  a  period  of  depression  and  buying 
back  cheap  what  has  been  sold  high  in  the  market.  The 
tide  is  ebbing  now." 

Hugh  —  mere  cog  in  the  great  financial  machine  — 
listened  and  wondered.  There  was  always,  according  to 


THE  ANARCH  AND   HIS   FRIENDS  83 

these  talkers,  a  personal  hand,  —  the  hand  of  the  strong,  that 
reached  forth  and  stripped  the  weaker  of  their  possessions, 
their  rights.  Many  and  ingenious  were  the  ways  by  which 
they  took  their  plunder  from  the  defenceless,  forced  them 
to  labor,  and  appropriated  the  work  of  their  hands.  Was  it 
true  that  life  was  one  vast  game  of  loot  in  which  the  victory 
went  to  the  cunning  and  the  strong?  .  .  .  The  sculptor 
pointed  to  the  Symbol. 

" There's  not  enough  of  that  to  go  around!" 

But  that  was  not  the  belief  of  the  others.     It  was  a  rich 
world  if    the  appetites  of    the  greedy  could   be  restrained, 
if  the  "masters"  could  be  induced  to  use  their  wits  for  the 
common  good  and  not  demand  a  selfish  share  of  the  results! 
To  the  sleepy  youth  it  was  like  a  quarrel  over  the  division; 
of  a  huge  pie,  each  one  envious  of  his  neighbor's  share,  the  j 
strong  appropriating,   the   cunning  filching,   and  the  weak 
going  in  want. 

" Organization  of  labor,"  " cooperation,"  "nationalization 
of  utilities,"  —  the  words  flowed  on.  The  sculptor's  scraggy 
little  terrier  pushed  his  black  muzzle  into  the  youth's  hand 
for  petting.  The  dog  would  sit  thus  for  hours  in  an  ecstasy  of 
content  at  this  human  attention.  Hugh  thought  of  the  tide 
of  foot-farers  on  the  lofty  bridge  these  cold  nights,  battling 
with  the  elements  for  their  chance  to  live,  and  he  thought 
of  the  little  girl  with  the  maimed  hand  —  where  was  she  this 
bitter  night?  Some  colossal  arm,  it  seemed,  stood  over 
them  all  with  a  whip  and  scourged  them  on,  "slaves  to  the 
machine,"  as  the  Anarch  said.  .  .  . 

Things  being  so,  he  was  glad  of  that  petty  job  in  the 
Bank  which  permitted  him  to  live  and  to  send  a  few  dollars 
back  to  Nell  and  the  children.  For  these  days  the  youth 
was  humble  in  his  expectations.  The  great  sign  shone  out 
of  its  framework  of  frost  with  a  hard  glitter,  and  spoke 
to  him. 


84  A   LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

"What  are  you  making  of  yourself,  my  son,  in  this  big, 
turbulent  world,  brimming  with  fine  opportunities?  YOUR 
chance,  remember,  is  slipping  by,  day  by  day,  hour  after 
hour.  Seize  it!" 

What  was  he  making  of  his  life,  indeed? 


VII 

THE   GKEAT  MACHINE 

SURELY  in  this  nebulous  life  of  the  youth,  there  was  one 
firm  fact — his  job.  That  seized  him,  like  the  relentless  stroke 
of  a  mighty  piston,  six  days  of  the  seven,  at  the  morning  hour, 
and  bore  him  in  its  forceful  sweep  until  at  nightfall  he  was 
released  to  join  the  army  of  his  fellow- workers  ebbing  home 
wards  through  the  streets. 

The  Bank!  From  his  perch  in  the  gallery  above  the  large 
banking-room,  it  seemed  like  a  living  creature,  pulsing  the 
busy  hours,  its  veins  filled  with  a  stream  of  gold.  Below  him 
were  the  little  cages,  in  which  the  clerks  were  locked  with 
their  piles  of  currency,  and  before  the  wire  screens  filed  a 
ceaseless  procession  —  clerks,  messengers,  brokers,  men  of 
affairs,  paying  in  money,  drawing  money,  getting  credit, 
taking  up  bills.  To  these  men  fingering  money  in  one  shape 
or  another,  life  was  Fact,  not  Theory,  —  urgent,  insistent 
fact  to  be  dealt  with  immediately,  not  tossed  on  the  wings  of 
words.  And  there  were  stories  in  their  faces,  in  their  attitudes 
before  the  little  windows  of  the  wire  cages.  The  blustering 
one  trembled  as  he  leaned  confidentially  over  the  cashier's 
desk,  telling  his  tale,  urging  his  claim  for  credit.  A  nod,  a  sweep 
of  the  pen,  and  his  fate  was  settled ;  boldly  he  strode  out  into 
the  fight !  Another  crept  up  stealthily  to  take  his  place  at  the 
confessional  of  the  market;  then,  downcast,  went  his  way. 
The  young  man  before  the  teller's  window,  —  some  broker's 
clerk,  —  careless,  cigar  in  mouth,  crumpled  the  crisp  bills 
in  his  fist  and  shoved  them  lightly  into  his  pocket,  then 

85 


86  A   LIFE  FOR  A   LIFE 

hastened  on  winged  feet  to  his  desire,  to  make  place  for  the 
messenger  lad,  with  his  burden  of  cheques  and  drafts  and  bills 
for  deposit,  more  money  than  he  might  ever  own  in  his 
whole  life. 

It  was  a  stream  of  money  flowing  through  the  banking 
hours.  The  stuff  itself  lay  stacked  within  the  wire  cages,  sheafs 
of  colored  bills,  piles  of  coin,  cheques,  drafts,  notes,  agree 
ments,  bonds.  Money!  He  saw  it  handled  all  the  day;  its 
symbols  passed  before  his  eyes.  He  smelled  its  acrid  odor 
on  the  hot  air.  He  heard  its  name  on  all  sides.  The  sensual 
symbol  of  possession  permeated  his  every  sense.  He  saw  it, 
breathed  it,  touched  it,  smelled  it!  And  soon  this  thing,  so 
tangible,  came  to  have  an  inner  meaning  to  the  young  bank 
clerk.  Beneath  the  signatures  upon  cheques,  the  graven  lines 
of  commercial  paper,  the  stamped  faces  of  coins,  he  saw  the 
desires  of  men,  of  which  these  were  but  the  convenient  symbols. 
Desires  of  flesh  and  of  spirit,  — women  and  food  and  clothes 
and  houses,  honor  and  charity  and  pride,  —  delight  and 
necessity,  —  all  these  lay  within  the  slips  of  paper  in  his 
hands.  The  Bank  was  a  storehouse  of  Desire,  and  hence 
of  life  itself. 

He  had  quickly  learned  his  little  task  in  the  hive,  —  the 
endless  handling  of  these  symbols,  verifying  signatures, 
making  entries,  computing,  arranging,  —  the  mechanical 
routine  of  the  cog  in  the  machine.  A  neat,  nimble,  faithful 
lad,  with  the  country  earnestness  over  his  task,  he  was 
soon  advanced  to  a  better  post  in  the  clerks'  gallery,  with 
a  few  dollars  added  to  that  weekly  wage  for  which,  accord 
ing  to  the  Anarch,  he  had  "bound  himself  slave  to  the 
masters. " 

When  he  was  again  moved  on,  this  time  coming  within  one 
of  the  wire  cages,  he  told  the  bearded  fellow  with  some  pride 
of  his  success,  and  the  Anarch  burst  into  one  of  his  gales  of 
ironic  laughter. 


THE   GREAT  MACHINE  87 

"Already,  my  boy,  your  foot  up  one  round  of  the  Jadder! 
Climb!  Climb!  You  see  yourself  now  in  the  cashier's 
perch,  then  the  vice-president's  desk,  the  president's  private 
office,  the  directors'  rooms.  That's  the  ass's  bait  they 
dangle  before  lusty  youth.  If  you  are  strong  and  thrifty, 
you'll  find  yourself  by  forty  in  a  steam-heated  flat  with  a 
wife  and  a  couple  of  young,  and  less  money  than  you  have 
to-day  in  your  pocket.  If  you  are  clever  and  learn  the  game, 
you  may  attain  even  the  dignity  of  the  cashier's  suburban 
cottage,  and  send  your  son  to  college.  But  nothing  more  — 
unless  you  grow  claws,  my  boy,  sharp  claws!" 

But  for  all  the  bearded  man's  scoffing,  the  youth  knew  that 
life  was  good,  and  fingering  the  fresh  bills  in  his  pocket,  he 
went  out  and  got  himself  clothes  at  a  tailor's. 

"Ah,"  exclaimed  the  Anarch,  beholding  this  transforma 
tion,  "some  good  clothes!  Tailor-made,  too.  Let's  look, 
my  boy!"  He  turned  Hugh  around  and  surveyed  him  with 
mock  gravity.  "Quite  like  our  friend  Ellgood  —  the  same 
tailor,  eh?  That's  right;  clothes  count  where  you  aspire 
to  climb.  They  are  the  first  outward  sign  of  the  inner  grace 
of  Success.  'Tis  one  of  the  profoundest  mysteries,  the  potency 
of  smart  clothes.  For  man  or  woman  they  hide  the  soul  and 
earn  false  credit."  He  discoursed  on  what  he  called  the  bluff 
of  appearance,  the  national  habit  of  making  a  good  show. 
"It  takes  courage  to  go  shabby  like  me,  when  'tis  so  easy  to 
look  like  the  best!"  and  he  added,  "You  will  not  be  long  for 
these  quarters  now.  After  clothes  comes  comfortable  housing 
among  the  prosperous.  What  do  you  think  of  Ellgood's 
club?"  The  youth  blushed.  For  it  was  true  that  he  had 
studied  the  architect's  clothes,  and  had  thought  that  life 
behind  the  privileged  privacy  of  the  club  doors  must  be 
pleasant.  And  as  the  Anarch  predicted,  it  was  not  long  before 
he  moved  away,  a  short  half  mile  as  the  bird  flies  above  the 
City  roofs,  but  into  another  world  altogether. 


88  A   LIFE   FOR  A   LIFE 

Meantime,  with  his  new  clothes  and  a  greater  assurance, 
he  was  finding  his  way  about  the  City,  in  his  few  idle  hours. 
He  watched  the  pretty  women  on  the  avenues,  richly 
snuggled  in  furs,  tripping  from  carriages  to  shops,  casting 
wise  glances  at  the  playthings  there  spread  out.  These 
daughters  of  the  City  made  the  heart  of  youth  pulse  in 
furtive  romance.  This  one  with  flowers  at  her  breast, 
what  was  she?  .  .  .  Ah,  these  pavement  romances,  — 
the  lonely  youth  and  the  pretty  women  of  luxury!  They 
seemed  of  other  flesh  than  his,  of  another  world.  .  .  .  And 
he  heard  again  the  silvery  voice  in  the  silent  room.  For 
youth  must  be  in  the  keeping  of  some  woman's  hands, 
given  over  by  his  mother  to  romance  and  the  wonderful 
creatures  of  his  own  fashioning! 

Yet  when  by  chance  he  met  the  farmer's  daughter,  May 
Todd,  in  the  street,  the  spark  of  fire  somehow  did  not  strike, 
though  the  girl  once  kissed  greeted  him  with  smile  and  was 
affably  communicative.  She  was  established  in  the  City,  at 
last,  having  achieved  her  heart's  desire  in  one  way  if  not 
another.  She  was  "studying  music,"  she  told  him,  and  had 
discovered  in  herself  the  possibilities  of  a  "  career."  "  Father 
wants  me  to  come  back,  but  I  can't  give  up  my  career  now." 
She  spoke  of  her  "career,"  as  a  man  might,  with  solem 
nity.  "  One  owes  it  to  the  world  to  make  the  best  of  one's  self, 
don't  you  think?"  she  said,  patting  her  muff.  "And  I  could 
never  stifle  my  talent,  if  I  have  one,  after  this  larger  life!" 
She  glanced  up  the  crowded  street  of  the  great  City,  amor 
ously. 

May  was  thinner,  and  she,  too,  knew  the  value  of  good 
clothes.  She  was  dressed  smartly,  with  heavy  furs,  and 
she  gave  the  appearance  of  a  woman  of  dignity  and  position. 
She  might  live  in  a  tiny  room  in  a  great  hive  of  apartments. 
But  on  the  street  she  was  any  woman's  equal.  They  walked 
along  the  populous  avenue  at  its  hour  of  lamping  beauty,  — 


THE   GREAT  MACHINE  89 

two  youths  in  the  city  venture,  —  and  May  spoke  of  her 
brother. 

"He's  Mr.  Gossom's  right-hand  man,"  she  said,  "sure  of  a 
successful  future."  So,  Hugh  learned,  Percy  Todd,  the 
farmer's  son,  was  one  of  Gossom's  voices.  "Career"  was 
the  word  May  used  of  Percy  as  of  herself  —  a  word  often  on 
her  lips.  For  when  he  revealed  his  connection  with  the  Bank 
of  the  Republic,  she  said  at  once,  "Finance  offers  a  great 
career  these  days!"  And  the  bank  clerk,  conscious  of  the 
smallness  of  his  cog  in  the  machine,  murmured, "  I  suppose  so." 
They  parted,  and  she  spoke  of  their  meeting  again,  vaguely, 
as  if  she  were  not  altogether  assured  of  his  "career."  Hugh, 
with  a  feeling  that  he  should  never  seek  her  out,  left  her  at 
the  door  of  a  shop,  and  the  next  morning  had  utterly  for 
gotten  her. 

The  Bank  had  two  faces,  Hugh  discovered.  The  one  was 
open  to  all,  the  busy  face  turned  to  the  street,  to  which  men 
came  with  their  affairs.  That  was  the  face  with  which  he 
was  concerned.  That  face  witnessed  tragedies,  and  these 
the  youth  observed.  Standing  beside  the  desk  of  the  assistant 
cashier, — that  blue-eyed,  kindly  Venable,  who  had  received 
him  at  the  Bank  and  set  him  his  task,  —  he  saw  the  shirt 
manufacturer,  Benton,  when  he  was  refused  an  extension 
of  credit.  The  whipped  man,  with  a  weary  face  of  despair, 
left  the  bank. 

"Poor  devil!"  the  assistant  cashier  murmured  to  the 
youth.  "These  are  hard  times  for  the  little  fellows." 

Hugh  knew  that  the  shirt-waist  man  must  fail,  now 
that  the  bank  had  withdrawn  its  supporting  hand,  and  he 
wondered  what  would  become  of  the  girls  at  the  electric 
machines. 

"People  aren't  buying  lingerie  these  days,"  Venable  ex 
plained.  "And  the  Bank  doesn't  want  that  sort  of  business 


90  A   LIFE   FOR  A   LIFE 

any  more.  The  day  of  the  little  fellows  is  over  for  good,  I 
am  afraid!" 

The  assistant  cashier  was  a  man  of  broader  views  than 
his  class,  and  he  had  a  kind  heart.  He  cared  for  the  fate 
of  "the  little  fellows,"  Hugh  felt. 

Not  long  after  he  saw  that  the  City  Construction  Company 
had  its  broad  sign  upon  that  great  building  on  the  avenue, 
now  nearly  completed,  and  he  remembered  that  the  con 
tractor  Harding,  whom  he  had  seen  in  Wethered's  room,  had 
failed.  "His  loans  had  been  called  at  the  bank."  So  he 
too  had  gone  down  to  defeat  in  the  competitive  battle;  his 
evil  bargain  with  the  labor  broker  had  not  availed  against 
the  strength  of  his  rival.  The  City  Construction  Company, 
every  one  knew,  was  a  lusty  young  corporation,  favored  at 
the  Bank,  which  had  "financed"  it.  Its  securities  lay  hi 
the  private  vaults  beneath  the  bank,  with  many  others,  and 
the  youth,  pondering  all  this,  perceived  dimly  that  other 
face  of  the  Bank,  the  one  turned  inward. 

Behind  the  doors  of  the  private  offices  that  face  ap 
peared,  and  certain  mighty  ones  of  the  City  went  in  to  it. 
He  saw  them.  Alexander  Arnold,  whose  name  was  fast 
becoming  a  proverb  in  men's  mouths  for  grasping  possession, 
came  there  rarely  and  also  Ravi,  the  railroad  man,  with 
the  languid  air  of  fashion.  But  Talbot  and  Steele  and  Dex 
ter,  of  the  "Republic  crowd,"  came  daily,  and  gave  the 
youth  his  first  perplexed  conception  of  men  of  power.  Above 
all  in  his  eyes  was  the  banker  Oliver  Whiting,  the  hand 
some,  amiable  president.  Whiting,  though  oblivious  of 
Hugh's  existence,  was  next  to  the  Anarch  the  busiest  figure 
in  the  youth's  imagination.  As  he  came  glowing  into  the 
bank,  bubbling  with  energy  and  health,  elastic  and  com 
manding  in  step,  he  was  the  figure  of  competence  and  suc 
cess. 

These  all  went  into  the  inner  shrine  of  Finance,  in  the 


THE   GREAT  MACHINE  91 

private  rooms  of  the  bank,  but  exactly  what  went  on  within 
must  remain  a  mystery  for  the  young  clerk  as  yet.  Slowly  the 
mystic  words  "syndicate"  and  " underwriting"  began  to  fill 
with  meaning.  When  he  went  down  into  the  bowels  of  the 
bank,  —  to  those  vaults  buried  far  beneath  the  earth  where  in 
musty  silence  reposed  precious  papers,  stocks,  bonds,  agree 
ments,  little  pieces  of  fine  linen  nicely  engraved,  he  knew  that 
there  was  connection  between  such  hoarded  treasures  and  that 
shrine  of  Finance  in  which  the  intimate  face  of  the  Bank, 
discreetly  veiled  to  the  public,  was  exposed.  Standing  there  in 
the  still,  steel-bound,  well-guarded  vaults,  he  saw  men  unlock 
the  little  doors  of  private  boxes,  under  the  watchful  eyes  of  the 
guards,  and  he  felt  the  mysterious  power  of  the  crisp  papers, 
reposing  in  their  tin  boxes,  —  condensed  property,  hoarded 
desires,  latent  life!  The  vaults  of  the  bank  were  a  magazine 
of  lives,  men's  lives.  So  the  youth  dreamed  of  it,  but  of  that 
larger  influence  of  the  shrine  above  upon  himself,  and  every 
body  around  him,  he  was  altogether  ignorant  as  yet.  .  .  . 

The  Bank  absorbed  another  bank,  and  still  another.  It 
took  more  space  in  the  great  building,  employed  more  clerks; 
it  was  growing,  expanding,  making  alliances,  increasing  the 
size  of  its  transactions,  growing  like  a  human  giant  with  an 
inner  vitality  that  must  express  itself.  And  the  little  cog  in  the 
machine  was  moved  hither  and  thither  as  best  fitted  the  pur 
poses  of  the  machine.  He  had  left  the  busy  banking-room, 
moved  upwards  to  the  trust  department,  nearer  the  heart  of  it 
all. 

"You  must  see  the  whole,"  said  Venable,  who  seemed  to 
have  a  kindly  care  for  the  youth. 

Yet  he  remained  the  cog,  the  tool,  which  in  the  vast  compu 
tation  machine  performed  its  act  for  the  total  result  at  the  will 
of  others  —  like  the  multitude  that  crossed  the  great  bridge. 
But  deep  within  him  lay  the  sense  of  another  power,  —  a 
will  to  do,  to  create,  —  the  builder's  power.  Arnold, 


92  A  LIFE  FOR  A   LIFE 

Whiting,  and  the  others  were  building,  each  in  his  way,  - 
building  him  into  their  works.  Between  him  and  the  field  in 
which  they  seemed  to  move  in  a  large  freedom  lay  a  thick  wall, 
and  he  began  to  wonder  if  the  Anarch  were  not  right  when  he 
said  that  no  faithful  service,  no  mere  fidelity  to  the  virtues, 
would  open  a  door  in  that  wall.  He  believed  that  on  the  other 
side  of  the  wall  there  was  a  wonderful  land  in  which  men 
achieved  their  wills,  where  there  was  beauty  and  splendor  and 
pleasure  to  be  had— where  the  silvery  voice  could  be  heard 

again ! 

For  the  dominion  of  things  was  entering  the  soul  of  the  youth, 
and  he  had  begun  to  hunger. 


VIII 

ENSHRINED   AND   SAINTED 

BUT  before  he  was  to  enter  the  desired  land  beyond  the  wall, 
another  experience  came  to  him,  broadening  and  softening  his 
life.  It  happened  unannounced,  by  accident,  as  most  that 
was  important  in  his  life  was  to  come  to  him. 

Lying  in  fever  in  the  attic  chamber,  he  was  watching  the  eyes 
of  the  golden  Symbol.  He  did  not  know  how  long  he  had  lain 
thus. alone.  The  Anarch  was  away  on  one  of  his  long  ab 
sences,  and  none  had  knocked  at  the  door,  or  he  had  been  too 
ill  to  note.  He  had  come  back  from  the  bank  one  evening  in 
pain  and  thrown  himself  upon  his  bed.  And  when  he  awoke 
the  Symbol  mocked  him  with  its  hard  eyes.  In  his  dreams 
he  had  heard  the  waves  of  the  sea,  as  in  storm,  and  then  they 
had  died  down  in  a  low  murmur  as  of  the  tide  along  the  sands. 
That  was  night,  and  the  subdued  traffic  of  the  street.  But  the 
eyes  of  the  Symbol  shone  pitilessly  upon  him,  mocking :  — 
*  "Ho!"  they  said,  "are  you  that  youth  who  came  up  to 
conquer  the  City?  You  are  soon  bested,  indeed.  You  will 
join  the  bread-line  around  the  corner,  or  sleep  on  the  public 
benches.  For  in  the  City  no  one  waits  for  the  weak.  Your 
job  has  gone!  Hear  that  —  your  job  has  gone!  Another 
with  a  surer  hand  has  taken  *it." 

So  the  sign  mocked,  and  the  youth  in  his  fever  began  to 
know  Fear  —  that  terrible  devil  the  Anarch  had  predicted. 
Fear  not  so  much  for  his  own  small  self,  as  for  those  others 
who  looked  to  him  for  help.  And  with  fear  came  the  sense  of 
failure.  What  the  Symbol  said  was  true:  the  City  had  beaten 

93 


94  A   LIFE  FOR  A   LIFE 

him  thus  quickly.  He  closed  his  eyes  to  shut  out  the  mocking 
eyes,  and  in  his  feverish  vision  he  was  once  more  treading  the 
familiar  road  down  the  valley  toward  the  sea.  He  was  striving 
vainly  to  reach  an  unknown  goal.  .  .  . 

Then  he  heard  a  human  voice  and  looked  into  the  faded  blue 
eyes  of  the  assistant  cashier.  The  humorous  face  was 
grave. 

" Knocked  out,  eh?"  Venable  said.  "I  thought  when  you 
sent  no  word  that  something  must  be  the  matter." 

He  looked  inquiringly  about  the  bare  room,  and  when  his 
eyes  spied  the  electric  sign  in  full  blaze  he  exclaimed :  — 

"I  see  that  you  have  established  yourself  under  the  proper 
banner!" 

He  nodded  ironically  at  the  Symbol,  and  then,  taking  the 
youth's  hot  hand  in  his  cool  grasp,  murmured :  — 

" Fever!    We  must  get  you  out  of  this  quick. " 

Thereupon  Hugh  was  wafted  somehow  from  his  attic  cham 
ber  and  set  down  in  a  little  brown  cottage  in  the  distant 
suburb  where  the  Venables  lived.  He  remembered  vaguely 
a  woman  standing  at  the  door,  —  a  woman  with  a  broad, 
homely  face  and  large,  competent  hands. 

"Put  him  in  our  room,  Alf,"  he  heard  her  say.  And  then 
came  a  blank  space,  from  which  he  awoke  as  it  seemed  long 
afterwards  to  an  unaccustomed  plane  of  life.  He  saw  the 
little  bedroom  in  which  he  lay,  with  its  worn  furniture  and 
shelves  crowded  with  books.  From  the  open  window  came 
the  cries  of  children  at  play  in  the  strip  of  back  yard.  It  was 
afternoon  in  the  city  suburb,  and  he  thought  he  could  hear 
afar  off  the  rumble  of  the  mighty  City.  Then  he  closed  his 
eyes,  and  presently  dreamed  that  he  was  speeding  down 
the  valley  along  the  familiar  country  road,  and  in  his 
ears  sounded  once  more  that  unearthly  music  awakened  by 
the  chimes.  All  these  months  and  years  that  he  had  spent  in 
the  City  he  had  not  heard  this  song  of  his  soul,  had  not  seen  the 


ENSHRINED  AND  SAINTED  95 

great  spaces,  felt  the  rushing  presence  of  immortal  beings.  .  .  . 
Then  the  weaving  notes  began  to  soar,  to  strive  as  he  strove,  to 
battle,  and  in  his  troubled  consciousness  there  was  the  struggle 
between  the  inner  and  the  outer  worlds.  At  last  with  a  dis 
cord  the  music  ceased  altogether,  and  he  came  again  to 
earth  in  the  plain  day  of  the  suburban  afternoon.  He  must 
have  uttered  some  cry,  for  a  tall  woman  dressed  in  black,  with 
a  pale,  thin  face,  appeared  at  the  door,  and  seeing  his  eager  face 
said :  — 

"I  must  have  wakened  you  with  my  playing.     I  forgot." 

"What  was  it?"  he  asked  breathlessly. 

"Oh,  nothing,"  she  replied  evasively.  "I  will  call  Mrs. 
Venable." 

The  large  woman  came  and  made  him  comfortable  in  his 
tumbled  bed.  But  he  had  eyes  only  for  the  other,  whose 
pale  face  with  the  light  smile  on  the  lips  seemed  wondrously 
beautiful.  He  tried  to  tell  her  of  that  other  world  of  ecstasy 
from  which  he  had  just  come,  and  she  smiled  indulgently, 
saying:  — 

"I'll  play  for  you  again  some  day." 

He  learned  from  Mrs.  Venable  that  the  other  woman 
was  the  wife  of  an  organist,  and  herself  a  musician.  And  he 
came  to  know  her  with  others  in  that  friendly  group  of 
people  at  Columbia  Heights. 

For  they  kept  him  a  long  time  in  the  little  wooden  cottage, 
already  overrun  with  a  family  of  noisy  boys,  until  he  was 
once  more  strong.  It  was  a  rough,  simple  house,  this  home  of 
the  assistant  cashier,  full  of  books  and  warm  with  friendly 
meetings.  It  was  one  of  a  long  row,  all  of  which  were  exactly 
alike,  except  for  slight  freakish  variations  in  architectural 
adornment. 

"I  wish  they  would  label  them,  or  stick  some  sort  of  totem 
pole  before  the  doors,"  Venable  complained.  "When  you're 
late  or  your  vision  has  been  a  trifle  confused  by  a  glass  on  the 


96  A  LIFE  FOR  A   LIFE 

way  home,  you  are  in  danger  of  turning  in  at  the  wrong  gate. 
Think  of  the  consequences!" 

When  Hugh  first  strolled  into  the  suburban  street  and  be 
held  the  endless  rows  of  dingy  wooden  cottages,  arranged 
mathematically,  with  rows  of  dusty  trees  before  each  one, 
he  comprehended  the  difficulty.  Columbia  Heights  must  have 
been  named  in  some  contractor's  dream,  for  it  was  perfectly 
flat,  and  each  small  lot  was  like  all  the  others.  Every  morning 
it  was  emptied  of  its  men,  abandoned  for  the  day  to  women  and 
children.  Hugh  wondered  that  so  important  a  man  as  the 
assistant  cashier  of  the  Bank  of  the  Republic  was  content  to 
Jive  in  a  rented  house  of  this  monotonous  character. 

Yet  the  personal  stamp  that  the  contractor  had  failed  to 
give  their  dwelling,  the  Venables  had  contrived  to  put  within. 
Shabby  and  ugly  it  might  be,  but  the  youth  remembered  it  as 
a  kindly  place,  full  of  busy  life  and  pleasant  talk.  There  were 
the  noisy  boys,  with  their  dog,  and  Mrs.  Venable's  endless 
housekeeping,  vain  effort  "to  keep  things  together."  There 
was  Venable's  "shop"  in  the  attic,  where  with  incredible 
labor  he  brought  forth  useless  inventions.  And  there  were 
the  books,  for  Venable  was  a  hearty  reader,  —  a  learned  man 
for  mere  business.  He  had  graduated  from  the  great  City 
university  years  before,  with  every  promise  of  a  "career," 
which  somehow  had  come  to  nothing.  In  the  machine  of  the 
bank,  where  he  had  an  authority  all  his  own,  he  was  recognized 
as  an  able,  bookish  man,  but  "old  Ven  will  never  go  up,"  they 
said.  There  were  traditions  about  him  at  the  Bank,  absurd 
on  the  face,  most  of  them :  some  crime  committed  years  before, 
condoned  because  of  his  usefulness,  but  never  erased  entirely 
from  memory ;  some  colossal  blunder  costly  to  the  machine  — 
neither  of  these  tales  credible  to  Hugh.  And  there  was  a  story, 
vague  and  romantic,  that  he  had  stood  between  some  thieving 
officers  and  their  loot,  —  "knew  too  much,"  for  their  good  and 
his  own.  Whatever  the  cause,  the  matter  had  been  long  settled, 


ENSHRINED  AND  SAINTED  97 

and  the  sacrifice,  or  the  mistake,  had  been  accepted  quietly ;  the 
man  had  taken  his  fixed  place  in  the  ranks  without  murmur. 
When  Hugh  saw  him  enter  the  house  at  the  end  of  his  day's 
work,  a  smile  on  his  face  to  answer  the  smile  on  the  homely 
woman's  face,  he  knew  that  whatever  life  had  brought  these  two 
in  the  eddies  of  accident  they  had  taken  it  and  proved  it  good. 

"  Alf  knows  more  about  money  and  banks  than  any  of  them," 
the  wife  said  proudly.  "He  reads  and  learns.  When  Mr. 
Whiting  has  to  make  a  speech  at  dinners  and  meetings,  he 
gets  Alf  to  write  it  for  him!" 

"Merely  to  furnish  a  little  superfluous  information  with 
which  to  dress  his  rosy  beliefs,"  Venable  corrected.  .  .  . 

The  little  professor  who  lived  nearby  came  in  evenings  with 
his  pipe,  and  there  was  talk  of  a  soberer  kind  than  flowed  at 
the  Anarch's.  Paul  Nesbit,  then  middle-aged  and  over 
worked  in  his  laboratory  at  the  university,  had  —  so  Hugh 
thought  —  the  most  beautiful  face  he  had  ever  seen  in  a  man. 
Pale  and  regular  in  feature,  with  firm  lines  and  deep-set  eyes, 
he  had  the  gentleness  and  the  sweetness  of  the  scholar  who 
has  never  looked  to  self. 

"My  boy,"  he  would  say  to  the  youth,  his  hand  falling 
on  his  shoulder,  "how  goes  it  to-day?"  And  it  was  a 
benediction,  as  was  his  smile  of  kindly  irony.  Within  those 
tired  eyes,  that  sweet  smile  and  gentle  voice,  the  youth  knew 
lay  another  story,  which  in  time  he  was  to  learn.  And  it  was 
a  story  worth  the  knowing,  Paul  Nesbit's,  but  now  he  knew 
him  merely  as  "the  Professor,"  and  unconsciously  placed  him 
among  women,  —  of  those  removed  from  life ! 

There  was  little  money  in  the  household,  and  money  was 
rarely  mentioned  even  by  name.  Yet  he  remembered  one 
occasion  when  the  universal  theme  was  touched  with  a 
new  light.  They  were  gathered  in  the  evening  as  u£ual,  — 
the  Venables  and  Madeleine  Upton,  the  organist's  wife,  with 
the  Professor. 


98  A  LIFE  FOR  A  "LIFE 

"  What's  up  in  your  world?  "  the  Professor  asked  quizzically. 
"They  have  cut  our  appropriations  for  two  years,  and  now 
they  have  taken  my  best  assistant  from  me." 

"Hard  times,"  the  cashier  replied.  "Your  benefactors 
find  it  easier  to  retrench  in  philanthropy  than  elsewhere.  Is 
it  possible  that  you  live  so  far  from  the  world  that  you  don't 
know  the  country  has  been  going  slow  these  last  years?" 

"Well,"  the  Professor  said,  "thank  God  for  baccy!"  And 
he  filled  his  pipe  from  the  jar.  "But  I  wish  they'd  get  the 
old  machine  running  on  an  even  keel,  so  that  we  might  know 
where  we  are.  Why  should  there  be  hard  times,  anyway?" 

"Yes,"  chimed  in  the  women,  "why  should  there  be  hard 
times?" 

"Some  days  you  feel  grand,  and  some  days  you  are  feeble," 
Venable  chaffed.  "It's  the  same  way  with  the  business 
world  —  with  everybody." 

"But  when  you  are  down,  you  just  have  to  pick  yourself 
up  and  start  ahead,"  his  wife  suggested. 

"Ah,  yes.  Get  confidence.  That's  what  we  are  trying  to 
do  now.  But  when  a  lot  of  people  lose  their  nerve  at  one 
time,  it  is  hard  to  get  it  back  all  at  once."  And  he  talked  on 
about  "over-speculation,"  "international  complications," 
"foreign  exchange,"  mapping  the  great  currents  of  world 
activity  that  went  to  make  "confidence." 

"It's  all  there,"  he  concluded,  "health  and  prosperity,  if 
we  could  only  believe  in  it!  And  some  do,"  he  added  whim 
sically.  "The  big  fellows  have  seen  this  coming  for  a  long 
time,  and  like  the  wild  animals  up  north  that  put  on  thicker 
coats  before  a  hard  winter,  they  are  ready.  They  are 
making  money!  They  are  always  making  money.  Alexan 
der  Arnold,  you  will  find,  is  not  complaining  of  hard  times. 
These  are  bargain  days  at  the  financial  counter." 

"It's  wicked!"  his  wife  exclaimed. 

"What?" 


ENSHRINED  AND  SAINTED  99 

"That  he  should  be  adding  to  his  millions,  while  others 
are  starving  and  out  of  work." 

The  men  smiled. 

"The  strong  have  always  taken  the  meat  from  the  weak; 
they  always  will." 

There  again  was  the  idea  heard  so  often  in  the  Anarch's 
room.  "They  "  —  the  Strong  —  somehow  obtained  their  wills 
at  the  expense  of  the  many  weak.  As  the  Anarch  crudely  pic 
tured  it,  "they"  stood  like  bandits  at  the  street  corner  to  rob 
the  helpless  and  unwary.  But  the  more  learned  cashier  pre 
sented  the  idea  differently:  "they"  with  their  superior  knowl 
edge  and  wisdom  waited  until  the  weak  and  the  foolish  pre 
sented  them  with  their  gold  for  the  sake  of  livelihood.  But 
it  was  fundamentally  the  same  —  the  strong  lived  on  the  weak. 

"A  life  for  a  life,"  the  youth  murmured^  involuntarily. 
And  yet  the  words  meant  nothing  to  him.  , 

"It's  right!"  the  pale  dark  woman  suddenly  exclaimed. 
"The  strong  deserve  what  they  get.  Each  one  of  us  would 
do  the  same  thing,  if  we  could.  We  would  live  our  lives  to 
the  utmost,  no  matter  what  it  cost  to  the  crowd.  And  it's 
best  for  all  the  world  that  some  are  strong  enough  to  live!" 

"Madeleine!"  Mrs.  Venable  exclaimed. 

"Rebel!"  the  cashier  laughed. 

"It  depends  on  what  is  'life,'"  the  Professor  suggested. 

The  dark  woman,  flushed  with  an  inner  heat,  looked  at  him 
disdainfully. 

"Every  one  knows  what  life  is!  Yes,  it  is  well  that 
the  strong  should  live  and  the  weak  go  under.  All  else  is 
just  sentimental.  The  strong  are  beautiful  and  able  —  they 
deserve  to  live.  .  .  .  Yes,  I  spend  my  days  sewing  fine 
linen  for  some  woman  to  wear,  and  I  like  to  think  that  she 
can  make  herself  pretty  with  lovely  things  and  show  herself 
abroad  in  the  world  and  have  her  little  triumph,  while  I 
sew  away  in  my  small  room.  If  I  were  in  her  place  — "  She 
gave  a  little  gesture  of  triumph. 


100  A   LIFE   FOR  A   LIFE 

"If  you  had  children,  you  would  feel  differently,"  Mrs. 
Venable  remarked  severely. 

"No,  I'd  feel  all  the  more  like  that.  I'd  want  them  to  win 
-  to  conquer,  to  triumph,  to  possess.  And  you  do  too!" 

"You  see,"  observed  Venable,  "there  can  be  no  different 
social  state  while  women  feel  as  they  do." 

Hugh  admired  the  spirit  of  the  organist's  wife  and  the 
beauty  of  her  face. 

"It's  all  a  question  of  the  food  supply!" 

And  so  the  talk  flowed  on  here,  as  in  the  attic  chamber,  about 
the  way  of  this  world,  and  the  condition  of  living  therein. 
Foolish,  thought  the  youth,  because  obviously  no  one  could 
change  the  puzzle  by  willing  it  changed.  There  was  food  to  be 
got,  the  job  to  be  done.  Some  got  more  and  better  food;  for 
some  the  job  was  better  paid.  And  to  him  the  chief  concern 
was  to  be  of  those  well  paid.  Venable  was  saying:  - 

"The  capitalistic  scheme  will  last  out  our  day,  I've  no 
doubt.  So  the  wise  will  continue  to  put  money  in  their  purses, 
to  buy  when  others  are  afraid,  to  sell  when  others  are  in  hope. 
The  poor  will  become  poorer  because  they  are  poor,  and  the 
rich  will  become  richer  because  they  are  of  the  nature  to  be 
rich." 

"That  seems  a  wicked  world,"  his  wife  sighed. 

"Only  an  instinctive  one;  each  animal  obeys  its  instincts. 
The  acquisitive  acquire." 

"I'd  best  sell  my  books  and  buy  stocks,  then,"  the  Pro 
fessor  remarked. 

"Buy  anything  —  and  hold  it!"  He  turned  ironically  to 
Hugh.  "I  hope  that  you  have  followed  Oliver's  noble  pre 
cept,  and  saved  a  dollar  each  week  from  your  wages." 

The  youth  smiled  feebly. 

"No?  Well,  you  might  have  been  tempted  to  invest  your 
savings  in  a  gamble  and  lost  them.  Put  it  into  experience, 
boy!  That's  sure  to  bring  its  dividends.  .  .  .  When  I  was 


ENSHRINED  AND  SAINTED  101 

younger,  I  saved  five  thousand  dollars  and  "invested,"  but 
some  cooler  head  than  mine  wanted  my  stock,  and  he  got  it  — 
I  don't  know  how !  I  learned  the  lesson  —  never  saved  a  cent 
since." 

"You  never  had  the  chance,  dear.  You've  put  it  into  us," 
his  wife  laughed. 

"Hear  that,  Georgius  preferred!"  Venable  called  to  the 
oldest  boy,  who  was  doing  his  lessons  at  the  table.  "What 
have  you  been  earning  to-day  on  the  family  investment?" 

And  so  the  talk  passed  over  to  pure  banter.  But  when  the 
organist's  wife  had  left  them,  Mrs.  Venable  said :  — 

"Poor  Madeleine!  Her  troubles  make  her  restless.  Did 
you  find  him,  Alf?" 

Venable  shook  his  head. 

"He  has  been  away  almost  a  week  this  time  —  it  must  be 
dreadful!  And  then  when  he  comes  back  —  poor  creature!" 

"He  has  not  been  that  way  for  months,"  the  Professor 
said.  "It  will  wear  off  in  the  course  of  time,  as  he  gets  older." 

"But  what  a  life!"  the  woman  protested.  "Never  to 
know  —  to  watch  and  wait  every  day,  for  that  thing  to  appear. 
Never  to  know  at  night  whether  the  man  or  the  beast  will 
wake  in  the  morning.  Never  to  know  in  the  morning  whether 
the  man  or  the  beast  will  return  at  night.  No  wonder  she 
admires  strength!" 

"But  she  will  never  give  him  up;  it's  been  ten  good  years 
now." 

"The  best  of  her  life,"  the  woman  added.  But  the  Pro 
fessor  said,  —  "It  is  her  life,  perhaps." 

"She  had  friends  and  talent  and  position  —  everything,  and 
she  gave  them  all  for  that  weak  creature  with  his  evil 
appetite!" 

Her  husband  smiled  gently. 

"She  knows  him!  When  he  begins  to  walk  the  floor  and 
twist  his  long  fingers,  she  understands.  She  takes  him,  if  she 


102  A  LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

can,  off  somewhere  into  the  country,  and  they  live  alone  in 
a  cabin  until  the  fit  passes.    But  this  time  he  escaped  her." 
"I  wish  he  might  never  come  back!" 
"I  wonder,"  said  her  husband,  "if  she  does." 
So,  it  seemed,  the  pale  dark  woman  with  the  suppressed 
fire  in  her  face,  was  partner  in  tragedy,  spending  herself  in  a 
struggle  with  the  weak  will  of  another. 

A  story  to  fire  the  heart  of  youth!  In  the  weeks 
that  followed,  Hugh  was  often  at  the  wooden  cottage  with  the 
organist  and  his  wife,  silently  worshipping  the  pale  woman, 
watching  the  thin  white  fingers  at  their  endless  task  of 
making  beauty  for  some  other  to  wear.  The  organist  came 
and  went  like  a  ghost.  The  diseased  habit  had  eaten  into 
him,  blurring  his  talent,  dragging  him  down  and  her  with 
him,  until  she  had  become  the  supporter  of  their  simple  life. 
With  the  few  stout  friends  by  her  side,  she  had  fought  the  ten 
years'  fight,  which  would  end  only  when  the  man  was  utterly 
burned  out,  no  longer  vital  for  good  or  evil.  And  she  sewed 
on,  outwardly  calm,  in  firm  resolve,  as  though  hers  was  the 
common  lot.  She  had  been  tempted,  urged,  to  leave  the 
weakling  to  his  fate,  to  separate  herself  from  this  disease  in 
one  of  the  many  convenient  ways  provided  by  a  highly  or 
ganized  civilization  that  puts  the  weak  and  the  offensive  from 
its  sight.  But  she  would  not.  No,  she  would  not!  No 
wonder  to  Hugh  she  became  "enshrined  and  sainted,"  and  he 
joined  that  group  of  friends,  who  struggled  with  her. 

Many  hours  he  sat  in  the  little  room  while  she  sewed  and 
talked,  telling  him  of  other  worlds,  the  gay  days  in  European 
cities  when  she  had  first  known  the  organist,  the  days  of  artist 
hopes.  It  was  the  life  of  beauty  and  creation  that  she  had 
dreamed  as  a  girl  would  be  hers,  and  the  glamor  of  it  all  still 
burned  in  her  eyes.  Hugh,  listening,  understood:  this  was 
more  compelling  than  the  lure  of  money  and  possession  — 
beauty  and  fame  and  the  quick  pulsing  life  of  art. 


ENSHRINED  AND   SAINTED  103 

"But  it  was  not  to  be,"  she  said,  dropping  the  little  cuff  from 
her  fingers.  "It  was  not  to  be! "  and  with  a  smile  she  pushed 
the  needle  into  the  soft  linen. 

They  went  out  into  the  dull,  dusty  streets  of  the  suburb, 
seeking  to  find  green  things,  the  open  spaces  of  the  country. 
And  she  talked  of  the  Venables.  For  the  assistant  cashier 
she  had  an  immense  admiration,  —  the  friend  tried  and  known 
to  the  core,  and  resented  his  fate. 

"An  underling  in  a  bank,  a  clerk!"  she  said.  "With  his 
mind  he  might  have  done  things.  But  he  married  young,  and 
his  wife  has  no  ambition." 

"They  are  happy,"  the  youth  said. 

"No  man  of  power  forgives  a  defeated  career!"  she  flashed. 
And  she  told  him  the  story  of  Venable's  marriage  to  a  poor 
stenographer,  who  was  ill  and  without  friends.  "He  just 
married  her  and  took  her  from  the  grind  —  gave  her  every 
thing.  But  —  Her  lips  closed,  as  fearful  of  a  disloyal  word. 
"What  will  his  children  have?  Not  his  education  —  no 
place! in  life.  They  will  be  clerks,  just  clerks!"  And  her 
voice  was  filled  with  rebel  scorn. 

"They  seem  content." 

"With  this!"  The  word  scorched  with  contempt  the  sub 
urban  street,  now  silent  and  dead.  Her  gesture  indicted  the 
respectable  conformity  and  all  the  virtues  of  Columbia  Heights. 
It  was  a  cry  from  the  depth  of  defeated  years,  in  which  lay 
lost  possibilities,  aspirations,  hopes,  and  ambitions,  all  dead  in 
the  clear  light  of  middle  age. 

"I  think  there  must  be  another  side  to  it,"  the  youth  said 
vaguely,  stirred  by  the  touch  of  passion  in  this  pale  woman. 

She  smiled  strangely  and  said,  "Come!" 

They  entered  the  ugly  brick  church  where  the  organist  was 
playing  to  himself.  Within  the  door  it  seemed  cool  and  dim, 
and  the  rich  tones  of  the  organ  came  rolling  across  to  them,  — 
pleading,  dying,  then  swelling  in  thunder  of  protest.  The 


104  A  LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

woman's  pale  face  shone  with  a  new  light.  " Listen!"  she 
whispered.  "It's  himself  that  he  is  playing."  And  in  the 
rich  organ  tones  Hugh  seemed  to  hear  the  weaving  of  the  two 
threads,  —  the  wayward  wistful  minor  pleading  with  the  fiercer 
notes  of  domination. 

The  wife's  face  changed,  now  smiling,  then  shadowed  with 
sadness,  while  the  Man  she  had  worshipped  in  the  bygone 
years  rose  once  more  to  the  surface  and  uttered  himself  in  the 
empty  church.  The  spirit  that  had  escaped  her  cherishing 
arms  filled  the  thunder  of  the  deep  notes.  She  had  married 
the  triumph  of  the  soaring  chords.  .  .  .  There  were  tears 
trembling  in  her  eyes  as  they  waited  in  an  empty  pew,  and  she 
sank  upon  her  knees. 

Presently  the  volume  of  sound  ended  sharply  in  a  harsh 
wheeze.  An  unshaven  little  face  peered  over  the  rail  of  the 
organ  loft,  and  the  organist  joined  them.  The  three  strolled 
homewards  through  the  dusty  street,  the  woman's  arm  under 
the  flaccid  arm  of  her  husband,  as  though  gently  guiding 
him  always. 

Therefore  Hugh  understood  when  she  said  to  him,  "Be 
strong!  Oh,  if  men  could  only  understand  what  it  means  to 
be  strong,  not  just  for  themselves,  but  for  others,  for  all 
others, — for  all  others,  —  and  (  especially  for  that  woman 
somewhere  in  the  world  who  is  waiting.  Be  strong ! "  And  the 
dark  eyes  shot  fire.  "The  man's  privilege  is  to  dare,  to  risk 
all,"  she  said.  "The  woman  must  accept.  But  it  will  not 
always  be  so.  She  will  dare,  too!" 

As  her  fingers  fashioned  the  beauty  for  others  to  wear,  she 
thought  of  the  glories,  the  triumphs,  the  brave  wills  out  yonder 
in  the  life  that  might  have  been  hers.  To  the  youth,  strong 
and  capable,  she  spoke  the  word  of  her  heart.  "Never  be  con 
tent  with  the  small  place,  as  Alfred  Venable  must.  It  is  a  big 
world — demand  much!"  She  would  have  him  a  triumphant 
warrior  in  the  great  field  of  opportunity.  "You  do  not 


ENSHRINED  AND   SAINTED  105 

yet  know  what  will  come  to  you.  Be  ready  to  grasp  it  when 
it  comes!" 

So  the  woman  bent  with  pale  face  over  her  sew 
ing,  the  woman  with  the  hot  rebellious  heart,  who  desired 
triumph,  remained  for  him  always  "enshrined  and  sainted," 
and  while  the  homely,  contented  household  in  the  little  brown 
cottage,  the  fine  face  of  the  Professor,  faded  in  the  cloud  of 
memories,  covered  with  the  much  living  that  was  to  come,  the 
woman  who  had  lost  and  endured  flashed  again  and  yet  again 
into  his  living  thought.  Years  later  he  was  to  see  Columbia 
Heights  in  a  different  illumination.  But  now  he  was  eager  to 
return  to  the  City,  in  full  expectation  of  that  great  page  of 
experience  as  yet  not  turned. 

Again  he  was  at  his  desk  in  the  Bank  of  the  Republic. 


IX 

• 

THE   GIRL  WITH  THE  MAIMED  HAND 

COLUMBIA  HEIGHTS  and  the  homely  kindliness  of  warm 
hearts  there  sank  into  the  misty  background,  as  did  the 
attic  chamber  and  the  Anarch's  crew.  There  must  have 
come  somehow  a  rift  between  the  youth  and  the  bearded  one. 
Perhaps,  as  he  climbed  higher  on  his  ladder,  he  permitted 
himself  to  scoff  at  the  Anarch  and  flouted  his  philosophy. 
For  a  period,  however,  after  leaving  the  prosaic  suburb,  and 
before  settling  in  the  comfortable  quarters  farther  up  the 
City,  he  must  have  returned  to  his  old  roost. 

And  just  here  —  link  between  old  and  new  —  slips  in  a 
memory  with  a  fragrance  all  its  own.  Pretty  little  gum- 
chewing  Minna!  Hugh  had  noticed  her  among  the  sewing 
girls  in  the  loft  before  the  shirt-waist  man  went  down  in  the 
struggle  after  his  brief  interview  at  the  bank.  "They  have 
taken  her  back,"  he  thought,  rejoiced  that  the  Anarch's 
gloomy  prediction  had  been  false.  He  met  her  on  the  street 
with  her  companions,  the  sleeve  of  her  wrap  gathered  close 
about  her  maimed  hand.  She  was  laughing  light-heartedly. 
Enough  of  her  capital,  it  seemed,  had  been  left  her  to  earn 
bread. 

When  the  loft  became  dark  after  Benton's  failure,  Hugh 
lost  sight  of  the  girl,  until  one  night  as  he  happened  to  round 
the  square  on  his  way  home  he  was  witness  of  a  street  en 
counter.  It  was  the  custom  for  the  young  men  of  the  quarter 
—  those  from  Gossom's  establishment  and  others  —  to  gather 
about  the  candy  factory  until  the  girls  appeared,  there  to  par- 

106 


THE  GIRL  WITH  THE  MAIMED  HAND      107 

ley  for  a  mate.  The  girls  fluttering  forth  in  groups  defended 
themselves  or  yielded  at  will.  But  this  time  a  belated  girl 
came  hurrying  along  the  street,  and  as  she  passed  a  dark 
corner  was  seized  by  a  young  satyr  of  the  street  and  drawn 
on  toward  the  alley.  The  girl's  scream  attracted  Hugh  to 
the  scene,  and  the  struggle  was  closed  by  his  vigorous  fist. 
The  satyr  took  flight,  followed  by  a  lively  flow  of  epithets 
from  the  girl. 

"Them  cheap  Success  guys,"  the  wrathful  dryad  fumed. 
"They  think  any  girl  will  stand  for  their  nasty  ways,  and 
some  will,  too!  But  that  ain't  my  kind." 

As  she  straightened  her  hat,  Hugh  perceived  the  girl's 
maimed  hand,  —  a  thumb  and  two  fingers  and  a  long,  curv 
ing  scar.  With  an  appealing  look  to  her  protector,  the  girl 
hastily  drew  her  wrap  about  the  disfigured  hand,  with  a 
woman's  instinct  to  hide  her  deformity. 

They  walked  toward  the  great  bridge  over  which  the 
girl's  path  homeward  lay,  and  Hugh  kept  on  with  her  across 
the  bridge,  loaded  with  its  evening  burden  of  the  tramping 
multitude.  It  was  a  misty  night  in  early  spring,  and  the 
cables  of  the  great  bridge  swinging  aloft  above  the  City  were 
lost  in  the  fog.  The  girl  stopped  midway.  Below  a  feath 
ery  cloud  of  mist  hid  the  dark  water,  and  behind  the  City 
twinkled  faintly  through  the  veil.  The  hoarse  cry  of  engines 
came  fitfully,  —  voices  calling  to  one  another  in  the  dark. 

"Ain't  it  fine!"  the  girl  murmured.  "I  always  like  it 
best  these  foggy  nights.  It's  sort  of  unreal,  all  that  down 
there." 

Lingering  in  that  press  of  black  figures,  they  had  a  moment 
of  sympathetic  understanding.  Minna,  the  girl  with  the 
maimed  hand,  was  moved  as  he  was  by  the  mystery  and  the 
beauty  of  the  City.  She  loved  her  great  labor-house.  He 
remembered  her  cry  in  the  hour  of  her  agony,  and  looked  into 
the  little,  childish  face.  Thus  they  were  drawn  together. 


108  A   LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

He  left  her  before  she  reached  the  tenement  where  she 
lived  with  her  people.  But  another  time,  when  he  had 
accompanied  her  at  night,  he  saw  her  home.  Her  parents 
had  a  suspicious,  hostile  manner  with  the  young  bank 
clerk. 

"They  think,"  Minna  explained  straightforwardly  in 
apology  for  her  parents,  "you're  my  feller,  and  they  don't 
want  me  to  have  a  feller." 

"And  why  not?" 

"I'll  bring  no  money  home,  then,  you  see." 

"But  you'll  marry,"  Hugh  protested. 

"Oh,  I'll  marry  when  the  right  one  comes  for  me!"  and 
she  looked  at  him  consciously. 

It  was  the  day  they  had  gone  to  the  country  together,  —  a 
warm  summer  afternoon,  such  days  as  urged  the  country 
lad  from  the  City.  They  had  rested  through  the  drowsy 
afternoon  beside  a  sluggish  brook  in  the  thin,  house-spotted 
fields  beyond  the  remote  suburbs. 

Pretty  little  gum-chewing  Minna,  with  the  fluffy  hair,  the 
pert  lift  of  pointed  chin,  decked  in  all  the  imitation  finery 
she  could  contrive  to  buy !  Pretty  little  gum-chewing  Minna ! 
Her  white  neck  curved  softly,  promising  a  woman's  gracious 
amplitude,  if  given  the  woman's  chance  of  love  and 
children. 

Hugh  held  the  maimed  hand  with  its  red  scar  running  over 
the  wrist.  A  piece  of  cheap  lace  did  its  best  to  conceal  the 
wound. 

"So  they  didn't  cut  it  off,"  Hugh  said  gently. 

"No  —  it  was  caught  in  a  machine." 

"Yes,  I  know!     I  was  there  and  saw." 

"You!"  the  girl  exclaimed  wonderingly,  and  she  added, 
"It's  a  fine  job  —  all  the  doctors  said  so." 

"They  couldn't  save  it." 

"Not  all  —  but  I  can  do  most  as  well  as  other  girls  with 


THE  GIRL  WITH  THE  MAIMED  HAND       109 

what's  left,"  she  said  bravely,  "pasting  the  boxes.  And  the 
boss  paid  the  bills!" 

With  the  maimed  hand  she  was  holding  her  own  in  the 
struggle  against  her  fate.  Minna  withdrew  her  hand  and 
turned  so  that  the  other,  shapely  and  white,  lay  near  him. 
She  peeped  at  the  musing  youth  from  under  her  blonde 
lashes.  He  was  gazing  into  the  sky  in  meditation  upon  the 
pretty  kittenish  thing  with  her  wounded  paw,  wondering 
what  her  destiny  would  be  in  the  grind  of  life.  She  displayed 
a  box  of  candy. 

"They're  fine.  They  give  us  the  real  thing  at  the  factory 
if  we  make  time  with  the  boxes  —  none  of  that  cheap  stuff 
the  other  boss  used  to  buy  us.  Try  it!" 

The  poor  stump  of  a  hand  worked  nimbly  all  the  week  in 
the  hope  of  a  dozen  pieces  of  sweet!  As  she  nibbled  her 
candy,  her  eyes  fell  softly  upon  the  youth.  She  seemed  to 
say,  "Take  me!  Help  me  with  your  strength.  I  was  not 
meant  for  the  fight,  only  to  be  some  man's  joy  —  yours? 
I  am  waiting,  master!"  A  wave  of  tenderness  came  over 
him,  tempting  him  to  respond  to  the  appeal.  What  the  young 
satyr  of  the  street  could  not  get  with  force,  this  other  one  — 
the  gentler  male  who  had  crossed  her  path  accidentally  — 
might  have  for  the  asking. 

"The  Minnas  are  made  for  the  profession!"  the  Anarch 
had  said. 

But  the  soul  of  the  youth  was  still  sweet:  he  knew  the  face 
of  lust  lurking  behind  the  mask.  He  kissed  the  maimed 
hand.  .  .  .  Quickly  she  took  it  away,  feeling  pity  in  place 
of  passion.  Her  soft  willing  eyes  still  covered  him. 

He  rose  to  his  feet.  Ambition  had  steeled  his  will 
already.  That  unknown  future  which  he  confidently 
awaited  should  not  be  hazarded  with  sentimental  mistakes 
on  the  threshold.  So  much  had  he  absorbed  the  lesson  of 
the  Symbol.  .  .  . 


110  A   LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

So  they  went  silently  homewards,  —  a  dead  happiness 
weighting  them. 

"Good-by,"  he  said  quickly  at  her  door. 

"Good-by,"  Minna  murmured,  with  soft  reproach  in 
her  eyes. 

And  Hugh  went  no  more  across  the  bridge  at  nightfall. 


THE   CHANCE 

AT  last  Fortune  came  tapping  at  the  youth's  door,  but 
not  in  any  expected  guise. 

"  There  are  no  accidents  in  a  strong  man's  life,"  President 
Butterfield  was  wont  to  enunciate  to  the  young  men  with 
their  feet  upon  the  threshold  of  life.  "  Chance  is  merely  the 
marvellous  pattern  of  destiny,  working  in  terms  of  human 
character  for  failure  or  success!" 

Nevertheless,  something  very  like  accident  intervened  at 
this  point  to  prevent  Hugh  Grant  from  scaling  the  heights 
of  fortune  in  company  with  Percy  Todd,  that  able  young 
disciple  of  Gossom,  who  about  this  time  was  launching  his 
weekly  magazine,  Ambition,  —  a  journal  of  publicity 
devoted  to  "the  hustler." 

Late  one  fine  afternoon  Hugh  was  sitting  at  his  post  after 
business  hours,  alone  in  that  august  apartment  of  the  Bank 
devoted  to  affairs  of  Trust.  The  other  servants  of  the  in 
stitution  in  that  department  had  left  their  tasks  to  enjoy 
the  rare  hours  of  a  spring  holiday,  and  Hugh  was  care 
fully  arranging  his  papers  for  his  successor  —  for  he  had 
decided  to  venture  with  Todd  in  Ambition.  It  had  been 
a  busy  morning  at  the  Bank,  with  a  note  of  flurry  and  agi 
tation  that  even  the  underling  in  the  trust  department  might 
have  perceived,  had  his  usually  clear  vision  not  been  occupied 
with  self.  For  latterly  in  the  bright  firmament  of  Pros 
perity,  there  had  been  signs  of  a  crack,  and  ominous  tremors 

111 


112  A  LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

had  thrilled  the  inner  shrines  of  finance  that  might  make  the 
wary  apprehensive.  .  .  .  But  the  young  man,  unmindful  of 
the  moods  of  the  powder  house,  sat  at  his  desk,  whistling. 

"Grant!" 

Through  the  open  door  he  saw  the  fine  figure  of  his  chief, 
Oliver  Whiting.  The  banker  had  hold  of  the  door  of  his 
private  office  in  one  hand,  and  with  the  other  beckoned  to 
the  clerk. 

When  Hugh  entered  the  president's  office,  the  banker 
closed  the  door,  and  as  he  reseated  himself  at  his  desk,  Hugh 
noticed  that  the  usually  ruddy,  youthful  face  of  his  chief  was 
gray  and  beads  of  perspiration  were  standing  on  his  brow. 
He  must  be  ill,  the  young  man  thought,  and  was  about  to 
speak  when  the  telephone  sounded  and  the  banker,  motioning 
Hugh  to  remain,  took  up  the  instrument  and  answered  the 
call  in  low  tones. 

"Not  there!  No  one  knows — "  The  banker  replaced 
the  telephone,  and  Hugh  saw  that  the  hand  about  the  in 
strument  trembled. 

"Grant,"  Whiting  spoke  heavily,  as  if  breathing  with 
effort,  "there's  trouble!"  He  turned  slowly  in  his  chair,  and 
looked  at  the  young  man  with  anxious  eyes.  "The  National 
Deposit  —  clearing  house  —  suspension  —  involved  —  must 
act,"  •  —  Hugh  heard  the  hurried  phrases  as  if  in  a  dream  as 
they  fell  from  the  lips  of  the  trembling  man.  His  mind 
swiftly  filled  in  the  implications  of  the  broken  phrases.  The 
Deposit  Bank,  the  mighty  institution  over  the  way,  their 
most  noted  rival,  was  in  troubled  waters.  Nay,  more,  the 
Bank  of  the  Republic  itself  was  in  some  way  involved,  in 
danger ! 

With  all  the  breathless  import  of  this,  the  young  man  had  a 
feeling  of  contempt  for  the  agitation  displayed  on  the  pallid 
face  before  him.  Oliver  Whiting,  —  "the  youngest  and  the 
ablest  banker  in  the  City, "  —  Oliver,  the  philanthropist 


Utl  A1>J  UHj  lid 

and  the  speechmaker,  had  lost  his  nerve!  In  the  face  of 
danger  his  hand  was  trembling  as  if  with  palsy.  All  the 
years  that  the  young  man  had  served  the  Bank,  admiring 
his  chief  from  a  distance,  he  had  thought  of  him  as 
strength,  —  ruddy  efficiency  and  self-control.  Never  again 
in  all  his  life  would  Oliver  Whiting  be  more  to  him  than 
common  clay.  He  could  not  see  that  vision  of  the  public 
which  the  banker  beheld,  before  whom  he  had  stood  as  a 
bulwark  of  rectitude  and  sagacity.  And  now  that  public 
must  see  him  as  he  was  —  a  gambler. 

Hugh  waited  silently  until  the  banker  had  gained  control 
of  himself. 

"We  must  find  Mr.  Arnold!"  Whiting  exclaimed  at 
last.  "He  had  an  appointment  with  me  this  morning  — 
but  nobody  knows  where  he  is.  ...  I  can't  leave.  .  .  . 
He  may  be  in  the  City.  ...  He  may  have  gone  South. 
.  .  .  Take  my  car.  .  .  .  Find  him.  Go  to — "  He  men 
tioned  an  address  in  a  side  street  where  it  was  whis 
pered  the  great  man  took  his  relaxation  according  to  his 
temperament.  "Try  the  broker  Rickers  —  go — "  and  he 
mentioned  a  number  of  possible  addresses.  "When  you 
find  him,  communicate  with  me  at  once,  no  matter  when  — 
I  will  be  here!"  And  as  the  young  man  rose,  the  banker 
cried,  —  "Take  my  car  —  go!"  and  seized  the  telephone 
in  his  trembling  hand.  But  before  Hugh  had  left  the  room, 
Whiting  called  to  him,  —  "Mind!  Not  a  word  to  a  living 
soul!" 

Hugh  smiled  back  into  the  troubled  eyes  with  a  look  of 
amused  contempt,  and  without  a  word  closed  the  door. 

He  hastened  through  the  empty  rooms,  so  solid  and 
decorous  with  their  carpeted  floors,  their  polished  desks,  and 
as  he  sped  down  to  the  street  he  had  a  curious  sense  of  the 
crumbling  waywardness  of  things.  The  Bank  of  the  Re 
public  fail!  It  was  like  the  parting  of  the  earth  beneath 


114  A   LIFE  FOR  A   LIFE 

one's  feet.  And  he  thought  of  the  silent,  dark  vaults  beneath 
where  the  guards  patrolled,  watching  millions  of  treasured 
securities,  the  property  of  many.  If  the  people  on  the  street 
only  knew  what  was  in  his  mind,  there  would  be  more 
anxious  faces.  .  .  . 

He  was  leaping  up  the  City  in  the  banker's  new  motor 
car,  —  it  was  one  of  the  first  of  these  machines  to  be  seen 
in  the  City,  —  and  he  smiled  to  himself  in  youthful  exhil 
aration  over  his  mission.  As  in  days  of  old,  the  king's 
minister,  in  dire  extremity,  had  sent  a  messenger  in  search 
of  his  master,  who  was  dallying  somewhere  in  the 
vast  City  with  his  woman,  while  the  empire  was  cracking. 
When  the  car  paused  in  front  of  that  discreet  house 
on  the  side  street,  to  which  the  banker  had  given  him 
the  address,  a  wave  of  youthful  cynicism  shot  over  Hugh; 
for  the  mood  of  cynicism  is  born  in  the  young  when  they 
perceive  for  themselves  a  discrepancy  between  outward 
seeming  and  inward  truth.  .  .  .  Behind  the  thick  curtains 
of  the  discreet  mansion  nothing  was  to  be  learned,  and  the 
young  man  went  racing  on  once  more. 

In  all  that  hurrying  throng  of  the  City,  bent  homewards 
for  their  half  holiday  under  the  golden  light  of  the  westering 
sun,  he  alone  knew  what  fate  was  in  store  for  the  people  on  the 
Monday.  For  the  first  time  in  his  life  the  issues  of  things 
about  him  began  to  loom  large.  For  each  one  there  in  the 
streets,  according  to  his  kind,  this  impending  fate  must  have 
its  effect.  The  working-girl,  the  man  with  his  dinner-pail 
slouching  across  the  lofty  bridge  in  the  black  stream,  the 
jaunty  clerk,  the  smart  lady  in  her  car,  —  nay,  the  millions 
and  millions  all  over  the  land,  —  must  feel  this  shock,  the 
crumble  of  credit  and  confidence.  It  meant  the  chance  to 
work,  the  veritable  bread  of  life  —  in  the  last  impact  of  the 
wide  wave!  He  must  find  the  one  man  who  could  stay  the 
flood,  perhaps. 


THE  CHANCE  115 

At  the  broker  Rickers's  house,  his  last  hope  was  defeated. 
The  youth  at  the  door  refused  all  information  about  the 
doings  of  his  lady,  and  the  messenger  sadly  gave  the  order 
to  return  to  the  Bank.  The  car  became  tangled  in  the 
traffic  in  front  of  a  newspaper  building.  On  the  placards 
was  lettered  in  colored  ink  the  latest  news.  He  read,  — 

"  PANIC  —  RUMORED    FAILURE   OF  TWO    BANKS  —  SUSPENSION, 

ETC."  So  soon,  he  thought,  had  the  news  gone  forth 
in  rumor!  The  idle  crowd  about  the  billboards  stared  si 
lently  at  the  fateful  words,  ignorant  or  careless  of  their 
meaning.  A  few  hours  before  all  had  been  serene,  at  least 
upon  the  surface,  and  the  busy  multitude  was  absorbed  in  its 
labors.  For  after  many  lean  years  had  not  prosperity 
at  last  come  to  stay? 

"How  goes  it,  my  boy?"  The  shabby  Anarch  was  stand 
ing  beside  the  car,  his  bearded  lips  parted  in  a  sneer.  "A 
fine  new  chariot  you've  got  there."  And  with  a  wave 
towards  the  red  placards,  he  added,  "Some  of  us  will  be 
walking  before  long.  The  big  house  of  cards  is  toppling 
down,  it  would  seem.  It  will  bury  a  few  of  the  rats,  I  hope." 

"There's  trouble,"  Hugh  assented,  with  wise  reserve. 

"Panic  —  that's  what  they  call  it!"  the  Anarch  cried.  "It 
means  that  the  big  ones  have  decided  it's  time  to  eat  up  the 
little  fry.  Panic!"  he  repeated  in  scorn.  "A  few  hours  ago  I 
saw  the  fattest  spider  of  all  in  one  of  these  great  cars  speeding 
northwards,  a  woman  by  his  side.  Little  he  cares,  once  within 
Paradise  Valley,  what  goes  on  here  in  the  City.  What  does 
panic  mean  to  Alexander  Arnold?  A  chance  to  buy  back 
cheap  the  goods  he's  sold  to  the  public." 

"Alexander  Arnold  —  you  saw  him?"  Hugh  demanded. 

The  Anarch  nodded  with  a  singularly  disagreeable  smile. 

"He  had  a  woman  with  him,  —  a  large  white  woman  with 
a  big  plumed  hat  —  always  a  woman!"  he  muttered  savagely. 
"They  must  be  at  Paradise  Hall  by  this  time.  .  .  .  What 


116  A  LIFE  FOR  A   LIFE 

does  it  mean  to  these?"  He  pointed  to  the  gathering  throng 
in  front  of  the  billboards.  But  Hugh  did  not  answer,  for  the 
car,  at  last  free  to  move,  had  started,  and  leaning  forward  he 
had  given  an  order  to  the  driver.  "The  station!" 

It  was  a  chance,  the  Anarch's  random  word,  and  he  must  go 
until  he  found  his  man.  So  without  reply  to  the  bearded  one, 
who  looked  after  him  with  speculative  eyes,  Hugh  sped  on  his 
way  to  catch  the  north  express,  which  would  take  him  to  Par 
adise  Valley,  — Arnold's  country  seat  among  the  hills. 

And  as  he  sped,  he  thought  of  the  haggard  banker  clutching 
the  telephone  in  his  office  at  the  Bank.  He  might  send  word 
whither  he  had  gone  and  relieve  Whiting's  mind.  But  he 
would  not !  Let  him  shake  and  shiver  an  hour  or  two  in  fear. 
"A  house  of  cards,';  the  Anarch  had  said.  "Capitalizing 
Hope,"  Venable  called  it.  "Overspeculation,"  the  papers  would 
say.  Call  it  what  you  would,  so  the  young  man  thought  with 
a  new  hardness  in  him,  it  was  a  savage  game  that  men  played 
back  there  in  the  narrow  streets  of  the  great  City.  The 
counters  of  that  game  were  the  lives  of  men  and  women  and 
children  —  their  bread  and  their  hopes  and  their  happiness. 

But  if  one  were  to  play  the  game,  at  least  he  should  have  the 
courage  to  face  the  cards.  With  a  pitiless  feeling  of  contempt 
for  the  fearful  banker  alone  in  his  private  office  within  the  great 
building,  the  young  man  travelled  northward  on  the  swift 
express  in  search  of  Alexander  Arnold. 


XI 

PAKADISE  VALLEY 

WHO  has  not  heard  of  Paradise  Valley?  That  estate  of  Alex 
ander  Arnold,  an  hundred  thousand  acres  and  more,  covering 
square  miles  of  hills  and  meadows  with  lakes  and  mountain 
brooks,  game  preserves,  fish  hatcheries,  dairy  farms,  nurseries, 
orchards,  —  in  short  every  appurtenance  of  a  modern  princi 
pality?  Begun  as  a  simple  country  home  in  the  hills  beyond 
the  smoke  and  the  roar  of  the  City,  in  the  days  when  Arnold's 
name  meant  nothing  to  the  popular  mind,  it  had  grown  of  late 
years  apace  with  its  master's  wealth  and  fame.  Farm  after 
farm,  entire  villages  with  their  homes  and  stores  and 
churches,  had  been  swallowed  up  by  the  great  one  in  his  land 
hunger.  The  old  north  highway  had  been  turned  aside, 
country  roads  abandoned,  ancient  rights  of  way  closed  to  the 
public,  at  the  suggestion  of  the  estate  superintendent  and  the 
will  of  Arnold.  The  country  folk  had  made  some  feeble  pro 
test,  loath  to  abandon  their  old  homes,  disliking  the  over- 
lordship  of  One;  but  these  had  been  silenced  by  money,  or 
as  a  last  resort  by  the  cunning  hand  of  the  law. 

At  first  the  <  houses  of  a  distant  village  had  been  visible 
from  the  great  mansion  on  the  hill,  —  disfigurement  and  ugly 
reminder  of  common  humanity,  although  the  mistress  of 
Paradise  Valley  had  been  known  to  say  that  the  white  houses 
peeping  through  the  leafy  trees  were  "  friendly."  But  some 
thing  there  is  in  power  which  demands  isolation,  and  so  the 
bounds  of  the  populous  world  had  been  pushed  ever  farther 
away  from  the  inner  privacy  of  Paradise  Valley,  until  now  it 

117 


118  A   LIFE  FOR  A   LIFE 

was  a  good  three  miles  from  the  private  station  at  the  edge  of 
the  estate  to  the  Hall.  .  .  . 

When  Hugh  Grant  descended  from  the  train  that  May 
evening,  the  only  person  to  be  seen  was  a  man  engaged  in  load 
ing  supplies  into  a  light  wagon,  to  whom  he  turned  for  guidance. 
The  servant  from  the  great  house  considered  the  stranger  with 
suspicion,  and  referred  him  to  the  stone  structure  across  the 
way  through  the  fortlike  flanks  of  which  ran  a  broad  road. 
Another  parley  here,  consultation  at  the  telephone  within, 
and  at  last  the  young  man  was  allowed  to  enter  the  domain. 
The  man  with  the  wagon  overtook  him,  but  did  not  offer  the 
empty  seat  beside  him.  Hugh,  accustomed  to  the  frank  hos 
pitality  of  the  country  road,  wondered  at  the  churlishness 
of  the  great  man's  servant,  and  walking  on  beside  the  wagon 
remarked  upon  the  high  brick  wall  through  which  they  had 
just  passed. 

"  There's  more'n  twenty  mile  of  it — and  all  as  high  as  that," 
the  man  answered  with  a  strange  touch  of  pride. 

"But  what  for?"  the  young  man  questioned,  glancing  again 
at  its  mediaeval  bulk  and  gloomy  height. 

"  To  keep  out  people,  of  course.  They  don't  want  'em  poking 
about  the  woods  and  farms." 

"At  this  distance  from  the  City,  you  can't  be  troubled  with 
many  intruders." 

"Think  so!  They'd  come  down  here  by  the  train  load  and 
camp  all  over  the  place  if  it  weren't  for  those  walls  and  the 
guards." 

"The  guards?" 

"The  keepers.  There's  twenty-five  of  'em,  and  they  do 
nothing  but  ride  about  the  estate  all  day  to  see  that  nobody 
gets  in,  —  lights  fires  or  disturbs  the  game." 

Hugh  pondered  this  first  lesson  of  his  journey,  which  was 
destined  to  be  fruitful  of  enlightenment.  The  road  wound 
through  a  thick  forest  of  young  poplar  and  maple  beside  a  clear 


PARADISE   VALLEY  119 

full  stream.  It  was  the  end  of  May,  and  the  small  new  foliage 
of  the  forest  trees  cast  pleasant  shadows  upon  the  broad  road 
and  necked  the  brown  water  in  the  stream.  Occasionally 
at  the  opening  of  the  forest,  which  skilfully  simulated  virgin 
wildness,  the  descending  sun  made  a  golden  film.  At  first 
the  way  led  up  the  stream,  then  crossed  a  broken  country 
and  passed  a  large,  still  pond,  on  the  further  side  of  which  rose 
a  gray  building. 

" Mill?"  Hugh  questioned. 

"Fish  hatchery,  sir/'  the  servant,  who  had  kept  beside  him 
all  this  time,  answered  with  scorn.  "  Supplies  all  the  streams 
of  the  estate,  and  they  sell  what  they  can't  use.  A  million  or 
more  of  trout  fry  and  hundreds  of  thousands  of  bass  and  other 
sort." 

The  road  ran  on,  broad  and  beautifully  graded,  through 
some  old  woods  of  gnarled  oak  and  young  plantations  of  fir, 
passing  a  picturesque  dismantled  mill  where  a  hoary  water- 
wheel  was  still  turning.  Once  a  deer  looked  up  from  a  cool 
glade  which  they  were  crossing. 

"  There  was  a  village  here  once,  sir,"  the  man  remarked 
proudly.  "That's  all  there  is  to  it  now!"  He  pointed  to  a 
dismantled  mill  below,  and  the  ivy-hung  chimney  of  a  ruined 
cottage.  It  was  another  and  startling  proof  of  the  might  of 
his  master  that  Arnold  could  turn  a  living  village  into  a  forest 
glade  where  wild  deer  fed  at  their  ease. 

The  road  now  gradually  rose,  and  crossing  a  gorge  upon  a 
stone-arched  bridge,  climbed  the  farther  hillside  in  a  long 
curve.  At  last  the  man  pointed  with  his  whip  up  the  open 
valley,  just  revealed,  to  the  mansion  that  crowned  a  terraced 
rise  between  the  hills. 

"That's  the  Hall,  sir."  With  a  last  suspicious  glance  the 
servant  drove  off  into  a  by-road,  much  to  the  relief  of  the 
young  man. 

At  this  point  a  gentle  valley  opened  between  two  ridges  of 


120  A  LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

sheer  hills  that  were  thickly  covered  with  a  deciduous  growth 
of  forest,  now  softly  leaved  in  early  green.  Through  the  level 
meadow  of  the  valley  the  stream  up  which  he  had  come  flowed 
downward  to  the  fish-ponds  below.  And  at  the  farther  end  of 
the  valley  upon  an  abrupt  spur  of  the  eastern  hillside  rose  the 
great  house. 

The  young  man  standing  in  the  soft  light  of  the  spring  sunset 
gazed  intently  upon  the  scene.  He  never  forgot  that  first  view 
of  Paradise  Valley.  The  sun,  just  falling  athwart  the  green 
slopes  of  the  western  hills,  illuminated  the  long,  irregular  stone 
house  with  a  still  radiance.  It  seemed  from  the  lower  end  of 
the  valley  where  he  stood,  immeasurably  removed  and  distant, 
although  not  more  than  a  mile  away.  But  at  the  twilight 
hour,  when  for  the  moment  the  very  birds  were  hushed  and  no 
human  figure  was  in  sight,  this  solitary  mansion  set  aloft  in  iso 
lation  and  silence,  like  the  hall  of  a  primeval  lord,  was  singu 
larly  unreal.  In  spite  of  the  loveliness  of  the  forest-clad  hills 
and  the  soft  light  of  the  setting  sun,  a  chill  crept  unconsciously 
into  the  heart  of  the  young  man —  a  chill  of  loneliness  and  re 
moteness  from  the  human  world,  dampening  the  ardent  spirit 
within  him.  It  quenched  for  a  little  his  buoyant  joy  in  the 
country  and  the  recreating  spring  and  his  sense  of  venture.  .  .  . 
Soon  he  strode  out  on  his  way,  pushing  aside  the  twilight  chill, 
listening  for  the  call  of  a  bird,  the  sound  of  a  voice  from 
some  laborer  in  the  meadows.  But  nothing  broke  the 
perfect  calm  of  Paradise  Valley.  A  little  while  before  — 
but  a  few  hours  —  he  had  been  moving  through  the 
crowded  City  with  its  reek  of  the  living,  its  harsh  voice. 
That  seemed  friendlier,  more  appealing,  than  the  lonely 
beauty  of  this  silent  valley. 

With  his  eyes  upon  the  lofty  house,  he  followed  the  curves 
of  the  road  winding  up  the  spur  of  the  hill.  There  before  him, 
he  felt,  lay  a  chapter  of  destiny.  Alone,  solitary,  at  nightfall, 
he  was  approaching  it.  His  spirit  flowed  back  once  more 


PARADISE   VALLEY  121 

to  meet  the  coming  fate,  small  or  great,  that  should  be  offered 
—  the  life  beyond. 

Out  of  the  thicket  by  the  roadside  rose  the  mellow  notes  of 
a  thrush,  liquid,  pathetic,  —  beauty  and  sorrow  inwoven  to 
gether.  His  heart  thrilled  by  the  musical  voice,  he  looked 
upwards  with  serious,  questioning  face.  There  on  the  broad 
terrace  above,  buttressed  upon  heavy  masonry,  was  gathered 
a  little  group  of  men  and  women.  He  hastened  his  steps  along 
the  winding  road  which  was  carefully  hidden  from  the  house  un 
til  a  last  sweep  brought  him  in  full  face  of  the  western  terrace 
and  the  people.  At  his  approach  the  gay  voices  fell  as  if  the 
company  were  regarding  him  with  unfriendly  speculation, 
perhaps  taking  him  for  a  servant  who  had  missed  his  way  to  the 
proper  entrance.  At  a  glance  he  discovered  the  master  of  the 
house  standing  by  the  parapet,  and  by  his  side  was  a  tall 
white  woman  with  a  sweeping  plumed  hat.  "The  one  that  the 
Anarch  said,"  thought  Hugh,  approaching  the  two,  who  were 
somewhat  apart  from  the  others.  Arnold  was  bare-headed, 
and  his  thick  hair  had  grown  whiter  these  last  years,  but  the 
deep  brown  eyes  had  all  their  searching  power  that  Hugh  so 
well  remembered. 

"What  do  you  want?"  the  old  man  demanded  with  cold 
scrutiny.  They  were  the  very  words  that  he  had  used  that 
other  time,  grimly  repelling  possible  demand.  Hugh  smiled 
at  the  recollection. 

"I  come  from  Mr.  Whiting,"  he  replied.  "I  was  sent  to 
find  you  —  there  is  trouble  in  the  Bank." 

At  these  last  words  the  handsome  woman  at  Arnold's  side 
looked  at  him  furtively  from  childish  blue  eyes.  The  old  man 
turned  leisurely  and  led  the  way  across  the  terrace,  motioning 
Hugh  to  follow.  Here,  thought  the  young  man,  noting  the 
calm,  assured  step  before  him,  is  one  who  would  not  flinch 
before  danger.  If  the  flood  should  come  and  wipe  from  the 
earth  Paradise  Valley  and  all  within  it,  he  would  not  cry  out. 
Not  if  the  City  itself  should  crack  and  be  consumed! 


122  A  LIFE  FOR  A   LIFE 

They  passed  through  a  mullioned  door  into  a  small  room 
prepared  for  business.  Arnold  closed  the  door,  and  wheeling 
said  interrogatively :  — 

"Well?" 

"Mr.  Whiting  told  me  I  was  to  find  you  if  possible  and  com 
municate  with  him."  The  brown  eyes  studied  the  young 
man  without  a  sign  of  emotion.  "He  is  much  disturbed  —  " 
A  trace  of  a  smile  might  be  seen  about  the  curves  of  the 
white  mustache,  and  Hugh  added  hastily,-  " There  is 
serious  trouble,  sir,  the  National  Deposit  —  panic  — " 

He  stopped.  "  He  knows  all,"  Hugh  thought.  Yes,  he 
knew  all  —  before  Whiting  —  before  it  happened !  This  day 
when  he  could  not  be  found,  when  he  was  riding  about  the 
country  with  the  large  white  woman  —  it  was  all  no  accident. 
And  chilled  to  silence,  he  waited  before  the  impassive  face. 

"Mr.  Whiting  told  you  this?" 

"Yes."  And  he  stammered  in  explanation,  "Mr.  Whiting 
is  very  anxious." 

The  smile  deepened,  then  abruptly  disappeared. 

"How  many  people  have  you  talked  with  since  you  left  the 
bank?  "  he  demanded  harshly. 

The  same  fear  of  possible  publicity,  of  betrayal,  that  the 
banker  had  shown! 

"  I  do  not  talk  about  other  people's  affairs,"  the  young  man 
replied  bluntly.  "But  the  newspapers  have  it  already." 

The  brown  eyes  still  rested  upon  him  thoughtfully  while  with 
one  thin  hand  Arnold  stroked  his  mustache. 

"A  good  habit  that,  not  to  talk,"  he  murmured  dryly; 
"not  common  .  .  .  Mr.  —  ?" 

"Grant  — Hugh  Grant." 

"Hugh  Grant,"  the  old  man  repeated,  and  his  brows  con 
tracted  slightly,  as  if  some  cross  current  had  disturbed  his  train 
of  thought.  "Mr.  Grant,  you  may  telephone  Mr.  Whiting 
that  you  have  found  me,"  —  he  motioned  to  the  instrument 


PARADISE   VALLEY  123 

on  the  table,  —  "and  you  may  say  that  I  shall  be  glad  to 
see  him  here  to-morrow  at  luncheon  —  say  that  some  gen 
tlemen  are  lunching  here  with  me." 

Hugh  bowed.  As  he  was  about  to  leave  the  room,  Arnold 
turned  and  remarked  casually,  "You  will  stay  with  us  over 
Sunday,  Mr.  Grant."  It  was  said  rather  as  command  than 
invitation,  and  Hugh  merely  bowed  a  second  time.  "You 
may  be  of  assistance  —  my  secretary  happens  to  be 
away."  He  left  the  room.  Hugh  thought,  "  He  is  afraid  — 
thinks  it  better  that  I  should  not  leave  until  after  the  event, 
whatever  it  may  be ! "  For  a  moment  he  resented  the  imputa 
tion,  thought  to  exhibit  his  personal  independence  by  hastening 
away,  his  message  delivered.  But  while  he  held  the  telephone 
his  pettish  mood  disappeared;  the  desire  to  press  farther  on 
this  curious  venture  overcame  his  pride. 

For  during  those  few  moments  face  to  face  with  Alexander 
Arnold,  the  younger  man  knew  surely  that  nothing  was  unex 
pected,  nothing  unforeseen  by  this  man.  The  crisis  that  had 
unnerved  the  banker  had  long  been  known  to  him.  Even, 
it  was  possible,  it  had  all  been  arranged  to  be  as  it  was.  For 
Panic,  he  knew,  was  also  a  weapon  in  the  hand  of  power.  On 
the  morrow,  then,  at  a  gentleman's  country  party,  the  fate 
of  the  Bank  of  the  Republic  and  of  all  those  bound  up 
with  it,  the  fate  of  the  National  Deposit  and  of  all  those 
similarly  bound  in  with  it,  the  fate  of  other  banks,  companies, 
individuals,  would  be  decreed.  It  was  an  act  of  power  that 
thrilled  his  blood. 

"So  you  found  him!"  Whiting's  voice  quivered  over  the 
long  line  with  nervous  tension.  "Thank  God!"  As  he  re 
placed  the  instrument,  Hugh's  lips  curved  grimly.  The  other 
one  at  least  had  the  courage  of  a  man! 

The  deft  servant,  disturbed  at  the  young  man's  garmentless 
state,  would  have  done  his  best  to  make  him  presentable  with 
borrowed  clothes,  ^ " Master  Morris's  t  things,  sir!"  But 


124  A  LIFE  FOR  A   LIFE 

Hugh  waved  him  aside.  An  unbidden  guest  and  forced  to 
remain,  he  would  appear  in  his  own  person. 

There  was  no  one  in  the  lofty  hall  when  he  descended,  and 
he  looked  about  idly  at  the  many  pictures.  At  one  end,  in 
a  niche  by  itself,  softly  lighted  by  hidden  lamps,  was  a  paint 
ing  that  glowed  with  mellow  color.  It  was  a  famous  Italian 
altarpiece  recently  acquired  by  Arnold  at  great  price,  and 
there  had  been  complications  in  its  surreptitious  rape  from 
its  native  land  that  had  already  given  it  wide  celebrity.  But 
of  this  gossip  Hugh  Grant  was  ignorant.  His  eye  had  been 
caught  by  its  rich  color,  the  lovely  figure  of  a  woman  in  the 
background  of  the  composition,  standing  with  a  regal  air 
beside  a  rich  table. 

"Yes,  father—" 

The  voice  came  from  a  distance,  —  leisurely,  contralto ; 
it  stirred  an  old  memory  of  a  voice  heard  before,  —  clear  and 
melodious  and  silvery.  He  looked  up,  but  seeing  no  one, 
turned  again  to  the  picture. 

"You  have  found  our  new  treasure,  I  see.  .  .  .  Isn't  she 
adorable?" 

The  voice  was  at  his  side,  and  he  saw  a  young  woman,  who 
had  come  silently  up  to  him.  She  was  dressed  in  white  with 
bands  of  gold  about  her  waist  and  bosom,  and  a  gold  wreath 
in  her  yellow  hair.  And  as  his  startled  eyes  caught  full  the 
smiling  face,  the  figure  in  white  and  gold,  another  echo  came 
to  him  of  a  memory  long  past  and  overlaid,  and  his  lips 
murmured  silently,  "Alexandra!" 

"You  need  more  light  —  here!" 

She  took  a  lamp  from  the  table  and  stood  near 
the  picture,  holding  the  light  above  her  head  so  that  its 
beams  would  fall  upon  the  depth  of  the  painting.  The 
radiance  from  the  lamp  shone  upon  her  smiling  face 
as  well  as  upon  the  golden  tints  of  the  old  picture.  It 
seemed  as  if  the  woman  of  the  picture,  so  splendidly  alive, 


PARADISE   VALLEY  125 

so  full  of  emotional  fire,  were  close  akin  to  the  living  creature 
standing  beside  him,  the  lamp  raised  above  her  head !  Many 
times  afterwards  when  he  felt  the  peculiar  glow  radiated 
by  this  living  woman,  —  her  warm  enthusiasm  for  life,  —  he 
would  think  of  her  likeness  to  the  golden  woman  upon 
the  old  canvas. 

"I  love  her!"  she  exclaimed.  The  joyous  lilt  of  her  silvery 
voice  was  the  master  note  of  her  being.  There  must  be  so 
many  things  in  this  rich  world  that  she  loved!  " There  is 
a  romance  to  that  picture  —  a  tale  of  intrigue  and  war." 
She  sketched  the  troublous  history,  —  how  it  was  called  into 
being  at  the  command  of  a  young  princess  in  a  little  Italian 
state,  done  for  her  by  the  artist  of  her  choice,  who  was  sup 
posed  to  be  her  lover  and  who  had  painted  the  vivid  being 
of  his  mistress  into  his  altarpiece;  how  then  for  long  genera 
tions  it  had  rested  in  its  place  above  the  shrine  where  the 
princess  worshipped  the  Madonna;  then  was  raped  by  a 
conqueror  to  adorn  his  palace,  restored  to  its  native  land  only 
to  be  raped  once  more  by  a  fresh  spoiler  with  the  subtle  might 
of  money.  "They  say,"  she  concluded,  replacing  the  lamp 
upon  the  table,  "that  we  must  send  it  to  the  Museum.  But 
I  like  her  too  much  and  can't  spare  her  —  yet.  .  .  .  Isn't 
the  chain  of  pearls  splendid?  And  the  glance  from  those 
eyes  —  as  if  she  saw  everything  in  the  world!" 

"And  wanted  it,"  Hugh  added  gravely. 

"Of  course!" 

Her  hand  played  softly  over  the  polished  surface  of  a  finely 
chased  box  that  lay  upon  the  table,  the  pretty  toy  of  some 
other  long-dead  princess.  At  her  breast,  clasping  the  strands 
of  the  gold  chain,  shone  a  large  emerald,  set  in  a  quaint 
cluster  of  small  diamonds  and  worn  gold  —  also  a  precious 
spoil  from  the  past,  glowing  for  the  daughter  of  the  present. 

Hugh  was  thinking  of  the  girl  with  the  torn  riding-skirt 
sitting  on  a  boulder  by  the  roadside.  Out  of  that  chrysalis 


126  A  LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

had  sprung  this  splendid  butterfly!  .  .  .  She  turned  from 
him  to  others  as  the  guests  assembled,  and  he  knew  that  she 
did  not  remember  as  did  he  their  frc/  encounter. 

At  dinner  light  conversation  crackled  about  the  broad 
board  to  the  accompaniment  of  the  leaping  fire  in  the 
great  fireplaces  at  either  end  of  the  long  room.  It  was  a  small 
party  for  Paradise  Valley,  a  dozen  or  more  guests,  and 
Hugh,  subdued  by  the  unfamiliarity  of  the  scene,  studied  the 
faces  around  him,  tr$ng  to  place  them  in  the  drama  of  the 
occasion.  The  lawyer  Talbot  he  knew,  —  plump  and  flushed 
of  face,  devoted  seriously  to  his  food;  and  Senator  Dexter, 
at  Alexandra  Arnold's  right,  —  with  a  gentle,  fine  face,  — 
was  also  of  those  who  frequented  from  time  to  time  the  inner 
offices  of  the  Bank  of  the  Republic.  Not  far  from  the  Senator 
sat  a  handsome,  middle-aged  man  with  a  deferential  air, 
partly  gray,  of  Olympian  youth,  nevertheless,  with  an  ac 
customed  manner  of  suave  amiability.  He  was  that  famous 
president  of  the  university,  Nathaniel  Butterfield,  under 
whose  skilful  hand  the  institution  had  waxed  strong  in  gifts 
and  the  friendship  of  the  great.  His  duty  to  the  university,  so 
Hugh  had  gathered  from  the  Professor's  talk  at  the  Venables', 
was  to  maintain  terms  of  intimacy  with  the  rich  and  the 
powerful  of  the  land,  "who,"  he  would  say  facetiously,  "have 
become  our  only  real  outcasts!" 

"  And  what  do  you  hear  from  our  boy  Morris?  "  Hugh  heard 
him  inquire  of  his  hostess  in  a  caressing  voice. 

"His  last  address  was  Teheran,  was  it  not,  father?" 

The  old  man  emitted  a  scarcely  audible  grunt. 

"Absorbing  Asiatic  railroads,  I  suppose?"  the  plump 
lawyer  inquired. 

"Absorbing  goat's  milk  and  Persian  poetry,"  Alexandra 
laughingly  retorted. 

"Well,  well,  he  will  come  back  to  us  some  day,  all  the  better 


PARADISE   VALLEY  127 

for  his  wanderings  among  strange  peoples,"  President  Butter- 
field  remarked  soothingly,  aware  of  that  common  cross  which 
the  rich  suffered  witfy,,t,heir  offspring. 

"So  interesting,  th,«oi"  piped  a  strange  treble  voice.  It 
was  from  the  white  woman  who  had  been  Arnold's  companion 
on  the  terrace.  "How  I  should  like  to  soar  up  into  the  sky 
and  decide  just  what  spot  on  the  whole  earth  I  would  drop 
into  for  a  taste  of  experience!" 

Hugh  had  an  odd  vision  of  this  large  blonde  creature  in 
a  black  gown,  spotted  with  precious  stones,  soaring  far  from 
solid  earth.  Her  opulent  flesh  had  a  peculiar  dead  tint, 
and  her  small  eyes  were  of  the  deepest  azure.  She  had  a 
thin  piping  voice  that  rose  to  a  tiny  laugh  at  the  close  of  her 
speech. 

"You  like  experiences,  Mrs.  Rickers?"  Alexandra  ob 
served,  and  there  was  a  crystal  hardness  in  her  silvery  voice, 
as  if  of  the  many  lovable  things  in  the  broad  earth  this 
woman  was  not  one.  Hugh  felt  that  the  daughter  must  know 
the  common  rumor  which  concerned  the  broker's  wife  and 
Alexander  Arnold.  For  this  was  the  beautiful  "Conny" 
Rickers,  who  was  busily  making  fortune  for  her  new  husband. 

By  her  side  was  a  glittering  youth,  who/ it  could  be  gathered, 
was  the  Senator's  son,  destined  for  diplomacy,  and  midway 
at  the  table  sat  a  dark-faced  man  with  black  mustache,  — 
the  broker  Rickers.  .  .  .  From  the  caprices  of  the  wandering 
Morris  the  dinner  talk  drifted  lightly  off  to  realms  of  horti 
culture  and  sport,  and  then  to  art.  Another  famous  paint 
ing  had  come  into  the  European  market,  and  Arnold  was 
expected  to  slip  across  the  ocean  some  day  and  "secure  it 
for  us,"  as  the  university  president  happily  phrased  it. 

So  they  talked  art  and  flowers,  and  the  young  stranger 
listened  while  deft  servants  brought  and  removed  the  food 
with  brisk  despatch,  and  the  long  meal  languidly  drew  to 
a  close.  It  was  all  performed  with  a  hidden  skill,  a  neat 


128  A   LIFE  FOR  A   LIFE 

perfection,  like  the  care  of  the  woods,  the  farms,  the  preserves 
of  the  great  estate.  This  Paradise  Valley  was  the  embodi 
ment  of  organization, — what  Butterfield  might  call  "  the 
efficiency  of  the  executive  mind."  Thus  Hugh  realized  the 
emphasis  placed  by  the  rich  upon  the  perfection  of  little 
things,  especially  those  that  touched  the  body  or  had  to  do 
with  personal  expression.  Towards  the  end  of  the  meal, 
as  if  to  cover  the  growing  heaviness  and  ennui  of  the  party, 
the  organ  in  the  hall  was  played,  and  a  gentle,  rolling  melody 
filled  all  lapses  of  thought  and  speech. 

Afterwards  some  sat  at  cards.  Alexander  Arnold  took 
the  broker's  wife  to  a  distant  room  to  examine  special  treasures. 
The  plump  lawyer  told  his  stories,  while  the  men  puffed 
meditative  rings  of  smoke  toward  the  gilded  ceiling.  The 
university  president  soon  slipped  away  to  join  Alexandra. 
He  was  a  widower,  and  still  had  Olympian  youth,  with  its 
wild  dreams  of  eminence.  Oh,  marvellous  Nathaniel! 

And  Hugh  Grant  also  watched  the  fair-haired  Alexandra 
from  a  distant  corner,  as  she  was  surrounded  by  her  little 
court  of  men.  In  this  new  atmosphere  of  conquest  and 
possession,  he  too  was  stirred  to  strange  dreams.  .  .  . 
Alexandra,  perceiving  the  young  man's  intent  gaze,  his 
silent  aloofness,  made  place  for  him  near  her,  and  bade  him 
with  her  eyes  to  join  her  court. 

"You  must  ride  with  us  to-morrow,"  she  said  graciously, 
"and  see  the  place." 

He  laughed  as  he  answered,  "But  I  have  not  yet  learned 
to  ride!" 

"Too  bad,"  she  said  quite  simply,  "for  there  are  some  lovely 
spots  among  the  hills." 

"I  must  walk  to  see  them." 

"It  is  so  dull  to  walk." 

The  little  words  seemed  to  say  much. 

From  the  balcony  outside  his  room  he  looked  forth  upon 


PARADISE   VALLEY  129 

the  starry  May  night.  The  feathery  trees  on  the  hillside 
waved  gently  in  the  soft  air  that  was  drawing  down  the 
valley.  On  the  morrow,  within  this  lonely  mansion  between 
the  hills,  there  was  to  be  a  council  of  war,  he  knew.  To-night 
how  still  it  was !  Far  removed  from  the  bustle  of  life !  There 
was  silence,  he  felt,  but  not  peace,  at  Paradise  Valley. 


XII 

OVER   FIELDS  AND   MOUNTAINS 

IN  the  deep  stillness  of  the  great  house  he  slept  restlessly 
upon  his  soft  bed,  and  awoke  to  the  yellow  light  of  early  dawn. 
The  blazing  ball  of  the  sun  peered  over  the  eastern  hillside, 
throwing  a  long,  dazzling  beam  into  his  eyes.  It  might  have 
been  the  beacon  from  the  Success  watch  tower  that  had  so 
often  disturbed  his  dreams.  But  instead  of  the  rumble  of 
drays  through  the  city  streets,  bird  notes  sounded  from  the 
green  hillsides,  calling  him  to  come  forth  into  the  morning. 
He  dressed  and  found  his  way  through  the  hushed  corridors 
out  of  the  sleeping  house.  Not  even  a  servant  was  to  be  seen 
about  the  great  hall  and  drawing-rooms  where  the  treasures 
of  painting  and  marble  rested  in  the  stillness  of  death.  For 
in  obedience  to  the  habits  of  the  masters,  the  world  of  ser 
vice  would  not  begin  to  revolve  for  some  hours. 

As  he  stole  from  the  great  house,  with  its  windows  close 
shuttered  against  the  intrusive  light  of  day,  his  spirit  leaped 
with  a  peculiar  exultation  of  freedom.  In  the  flooding  beauty 
of  the  dawn  he  had  escaped  the  complexity  of  man's  life,  — 
not  merely  the  organized  luxury  of  Paradise  Hall,  but  the 
sordid  part  of  himself  that  had  grown  these  last  years. 
Turning  soon  from  the  gravelled  path  he  scrambled  up  the 
eastern  hillside,  shaking  the  dew  from  the  weedy  underbrush 
that  trembled  at  his  touch.  Careless  of  direction,  desiring 
to  lose  himself  in  the  wild,  he  rambled  on  aimlessly  through 
the  woods,  threading  brambly  copses,  surprising  a  deer  at  a 
pool,  now  following  a  cool  trout  stream,  and  rousing  a  flock 

130 


OVER  FIELDS  AND  MOUNTAINS  131 

of  pheasants  that  lazily  betook  themselves  from  his  path. 
These  wild  things  that  he  met  seemed  impudently  indiffer 
ent  to  his  appearance,  as  if  the  sense  of  protection  had  af 
fected  even  their  wild  hearts.  Like  the  servants,  they  had 
been  removed  from  the  common  perplexities  of  existence,  and 
knew  that  they  belonged  to  an  order  of  things  quite  other 
than  that  outside  the  walled  bounds  of  Paradise  Valley ! 

The  sun  had  dried  the  dew  and  shot  warmly  into  the  coverts 
before  he  thought  to  turn  back,  and  then  he  was  at  a  loss  for 
direction.  In  the  remote  part  of  the  estate  that  he  had 
reached  he  might  wander  for  hours,  perhaps  the  entire  day, 
without  meeting  a  human  being  or  crossing  a  travelled  path. 
At  last,  recalling  that  from  the  ridge  behind  him  he  had  seen 
a  wreath  of  blue  smoke  —  sign  of  habitation  —  he  retraced 
his  steps,  and  presently  he  came  to  a  rough  road,  with  turfed 
furrows,  washed  by  the  spring  streams.  This,  he  argued, 
must  be  one  of  those  abandoned  thoroughfares,  already  almost 
erased  from  the  earth,  and  would  lead  out  of  the  woods.  He 
walked  rapidly  down  the  winding  road  for  some  space,  then 
paused  in  doubt.  He  heard  the  clatter  of  hoofs  coming 
towards  him  at  a  lively  pace,  and  on  the  crest  of  the  little 
hill  appeared  a  horse  in  full  gallop  with  a  woman  on  his  back. 
The  horse  shied  at  the  seated  figure,  and  Alexandra  Arnold 
quickly  pulled  him  in.  Hatless,  breathless,  her  tumbled  hair 
flecked  with  the  bright  sunlight,  she  was  glowing  with  life. 
She  nodded  a  friendly  greeting. 

"You  have  been  tasting  the  morning,  also!"  she  exclaimed, 
reaching  out  her  free  hand  to  him.  As  she  leaned  slightly 
down  from  her  seat,  the  smiling  face  and  shining  eyes  seemed 
those  of  the  girl  he  had  met  on  the  roadside  with  the  torn  skirt. 
And  his  unbuttoned  coat  and  waistcoat,  his  muddy  shoes 
and  damp  brow,  gave  him  the  look  of  the  rough  wayfarer. 

"Yes!  I  have  been  wandering  about  —  I'm  lost  this  time, 
and/'  he  added  with  a  whimsical  smile,  "you  have  the  horse! " 


132  A  LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

To  her  puzzled  look  he  explained,  "You  don't  remember 
that  other  time?  It  was  years  ago,  when  you  were  a  girl. 
You  took  your  father's  nag  without  permission,  and  he  threw 
you.  .  .  .  You  were  sitting  on  a  rock  by  the  road  when 
I  found  you — " 

A  light  broke  over  her  perplexed  face,  and  she  smiled  eagerly. 

"So  you  were  the  young  man!  And  that's  why  your  face 
seemed  familiar." 

"The  name  of  the  horse  was  Max.  We  all  went  to  the  ball- 
game." 

"Oh,  I  remember  —  and  the  Academy  won!" 

"Do  you  also  remember  our  dispute  —  how  you  lectured 
me?" 

"I?" 

"  You !  I've  often  thought  of  what  you  said  that  afternoon. 
The  matter  puzzles  me  still." 

"The  sporting  instinct,  wasn't  it?  I  was  all  for  the  Acad 
emy,  and  you  didn't  care  which  side  won." 

There  was  a  smiling  challenge  between  them,  as  if  the 
childish  difference  still  lay  just  beneath  the  surface  of  their 
present  selves,  —  strong  and  full  of  completed  youth  as  they 
were. 

"Does  it  still  trouble  you?"  she  asked  teasingly. 

"  Oh,  at  times  —  rarely,"  he  replied,  a  frown  gathering  un 
consciously  on  his  clear  brow.  "  Life  doesn't  let  you  speculate 
much:  you  do  the  next  thing  that  comes  along!" 

"  Exactly!  And  it's  always  something  bigger  and  better 
worth  doing  than  the  last!" 

"  Not  always.     Not  every  day  is  a  triumph." 

There  was  a  smiling  pause  between  them. 
"  You  still  believe  in  winning,"  he  remarked. 
"Of  course  —  and  you  do  also,"  she  said  lightly. 
"  Otherwise  I  should  not  be  here?"  he  suggested  crudely. 
"  It  was  an  accident,  you  know.     I  came  on  an  errand." 


OVER  FIELDS  AND  MOUNTAINS  133 

She  made  no  reply  to  this  speech,  merely  looked  at  the 
handsome  youth  with  grave  eyes  as  if  wondering  about  him. 
Suddenly  she  put  out  her  hands,  touching  him  lightly  on  the 
shoulders,  and  leaped  to  the  ground.  He  tobk  the  bridle  of  the 
horse,  and  they  walked  slowly  on  side  by  side. 

"Like  the  other  time,"  she  suggested. 

"Only  you  were  a  girl,  then,"  he  corrected.  "Nothing  is 
ever  repeated." 

"No  —  but  there  are  pleasant  reminders!"  .... 

Soon  they  came  upon  a  little  cottage  in  the  turn  of  the  road, 
—  one  of  the  former  farmhouses  that  had  lent  itself  to  the 
picturesque  designs  of  a  gentleman's  estate,  and  thus  escaped 
destruction.  To  the  old  man  seated  before  the  door  Alex 
andra  called :  — 

"Good  morning,  Andy!    Making  flies?" 

"Ay!"  the  old  Scotchman  replied,  and  then  with  a  wave  of 
his  hand  beckoned  the  two  to  him.  "Do  you  see  that?" 
He  held  up  the  shiny  silvery  thread  with  which  he  was 
fastening  some  trout  flies.  "And  do  you  ken  what 
that  is?" 

"It's  catgut,  isn't  it?"  the  young  woman  replied,  taking 
a  strand  in  her  fingers. 

"Not  catgut!  "  the  Scotchman  exclaimed  with  disdain. 

"Fine  silver  wire,"  Hugh  suggested. 

"Nor  yet  silver  wire!"  the  old  man  said,  his  eyes  beaming. 
"  It's  out  of  the  body  of  a  worm.  And  it's  stronger  than  any 
wire  could  be.  Break  the  bit  with  your  two  hands ! " 

Alexandra  strained  the  silvery  thread  until  it  cut  into  the 
flesh,  but  it  did  not  break.  Hugh  picked  up  another  strand, 
slightly  coarser,  and  with  a  jerk  it  parted. 

"And  that's  the  dee-ference,"the  old  man  explained  with  a 
triumphant  nod.  "That  the  gentleman  broke  is  domestic, — 
out  of  the  American  worm.  The  other  is  made  in  Chiny  from 
the  Chiny  worm." 


134  A   LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

He  explained  the  tensile  quality  of  various  silks,  then  led 
them  to  a  room  in  the  cottage  where  he  had  some 
silkworms.  From  one  of  the  jars  he  took  a  fat  worm, 
cut  it,  and  began  to  "draw"  the  tiny  filament  from  the 
body  of  the  worm. 

"And  nine  yards  of  that  in  one  worm!"  he  said.  "It's 
a  Chiny  worm,  that  one  —  see  how  fine  and  firm  the  thread  is. 
Now  I  ask  mesel  why  the  American  worm  can  no  do  the  like? 
It  must  be  the  food.  So  I'm  experimentin'.  I've  got  some 
American  worms  in  those  cages."  He  pointed  to  a  row  of 
cages  where  the  silkworms  were  scattered  among  leaves. 
"They're  powerful  greedy  eaters,  too  —  it  keeps  me  busy 
feeding  them." 

They  watched  the  tiny  creatures  curled  along  the  leaves. 

"Now  there's  one  strange  thing,"  the  old  man  continued, 
in  a  musing  tone.  "I  could  no  find  right  males  for  my 
females  hereabouts,  and  so  I  hung  the  cages  out  o'  door  the 
night,  and  in  the  morning  —  see  there!" 

He  showed  them  a  cage  suspended  from  the  limb  of  a  tree 
outside,  on  whose  filmy  cloth  covering  several  large  moths 
were  clinging.  "Last  night  I  hung  that  out,  and  this  morn 
ing  there  were  five  large  beauties  of  the  same  kind  sticking 
to  the  cloth.  I  never  before  saw  one  of  the  kind  in 
these  parts,  and  I  never  heard  of  their  being  here.  Now  I'd 
like  to  have  you  tell  me,  how  did  they  find  the  way? " 

The  old  man's  voice  was  eager  with  his  pleasure  in  the 
mystery.  Alexandra  laughingly  exclaimed :  — 

"So  they  came  from  afar  to  find  their  mates?" 

"Ay,  miss  —  over  fields  and  mountains." 

"Something  called  them  here." 

The  beauty  of  the  primal  law  in  this  chance  illustration 
touched  the  woman.  Educated  in  the  modern  way  to  full 
knowledge  of  sex  mystery,  she  had  no  shame  in  presence  of 
the  law,  —  so  wonderful  and  beautiful,  —  and  as  the  two 


OVER  FIELDS  AND  MOUNTAINS  135 

left  the  old  man's  cottage  and  resumed  their  road  through  the 
young  forest,  she  murmured  softly :  — 

"  Through  the  forest,  across  the  fields,  and  over  the  hills 
they  came  —  to  find  their  mates." 

"A  great  force  drew  them  —  one  of  the  two  master  forces 
in  life." 

" And  the  other?" 

"The  other  is  everywhere,"  the  young  man  replied  vaguely, 
gazing  across  the  expanse  of  meadow  with  the  dark  line  of  the 
meandering  stream,  to  which  their  road  had  brought  them. 
High  at  the  upper  end  of  the  valley  Paradise  Hall  rose  with 
gable  and  tower  toward  the  blue  heavens.  "This  —  the 
spirit  of  possession,  of  conquest,  of  triumph!" 

A  little  smile  came  into  the  woman's  face  as  he  touched  once 
more  upon  the  theme  of  their  youthful  difference. 

"And  this,"  she  said  lightly,  "is  very  good,  I  think!" 

"For  those  that  possess." 

"Some  must  always  possess,  —  the  strong!"  she  observed 
coldly. 

"And  some  must  always  be  possessed  —  the  weak?"  he 
asked. 

"I  suppose  so.     It  is  the  law  —  the  other  law." 

She  nodded  with  smiling  affirmation,  and  reaching  for  the 
bridle  prepared  to  mount. 

"I  must  leave  you  here  and  hurry  home.  My  father 
is  expecting  some  men  for  luncheon,  —  some  of  the  strong!" 
she  added  with  a  touch  of  malice,  as  the  young  man 
awkwardly  helped  her  to  mount.  Waving  farewell,  she 
was  speeding  up  the  smooth  roadway  at  full  gallop,  her 
head  erect,  a  smile  upon  her  curving  lips,  a  figure  of  gleam 
ing  life  and  beauty  in  the  morning  sunlight. 

The  air  was  sweet  with  the  gladness  of  spring.  The  tender 
thickets  beside  the  road  were  loud  with  the  hum  of  growing 
life.  And  yet  the  meaning  of  it,  the  vivid  joy  of  it  all,  seemed 


136  A  LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

to  have  left  the  young  man  with  the  vanishing  presence  of  this 
woman.  Hugh  turned  aside  as  a  swift  motor  shot  by  him. 
In  the  solitary  figure  within  of  a  little  man  wrapped  in  fur, 
he  recognized  that  child  marvel  of  finance,  —  Michael 
Peter  Ravi.  So  Arnold's  party  was  beginning! 


XIII 

THE  COUNCIL  OF  THE   GODS 

THE  visitors  were  arriving.  As  Hugh  drew  near  the  house, 
he  could  see  the  powerful  cars  circle  rapidly  around  the  drive 
up  the  hill.  Soon  on  the  western  terrace  a  lively  party  was 
assembled,  into  which  the  young  man  slipped  without  note. 

These  princes  of  the  day,  laughing,  chatting,  exchanging 
greetings,  had  a  jovial  air  about  them.  Solid,  fresh-colored 
gentlemen,  scrupulously  dressed,  they  had  met  on  this  bright 
Sunday  morning  seemingly  for  a  party  of  pleasure.  Hugh 
wondered  whether  the  excitement  in  the  City,  the  cry  of  alarm, 
that  had  spurred  him  on  his  journey  to  Paradise  Valley,  were 
but  the  hysterics  of  the  street.  Even  Whiting,  who  was 
telling  an  elaborate  story  to  Senator  Dexter,  seemed  to  have 
recovered  his  ruddy  poise,  in  this  atmosphere  of  confident 
power.  Perceiving  Hugh,  he  beckoned  to  him,  and  with  that 
amiable  cordiality  which  made  him  liked  by  many,  he  presented 
the  young  man  to  Senator  Dexter,  then  to  Ravi,  and  others, 
who  nodded  sociably.  .  .  .  "Much  obliged  to  you,  Grant," 
the  banker  whispered.  "Thought  you  would  stay  over?" 

"Mr.  Arnold  wished  it." 

"Indeed." 

"How  are  things  —  the  Bank?"  Hugh  ventured. 

The  serious  look  settled  down  on  Oliver  Whiting's  pleasant 
face. 

"The  Bank  is  safe,"  he  replied  curtly. 

"And  the  National  Deposit?" 

137 


138  A    LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

"Ah,  that  is  another  matter!  I  can't  say — it  is  a  mixed 
situation."  He  began  to  speak  of  other  affairs,  as  if  the 
young  man  had  committed  an  indiscretion.  But  Hugh  knew 
why  he  had  lost  the  ashen  look  of  the  day  before.  In  the 
coming  storm  he  and  his  would  be  taken  care  of.  Whatever 
might  betide  the  National  Deposit  and  "the  other  crowd," 
he  should  be  saved.  The  reputation  he  had  built  up  for 
public"Aadmiration  would  remain  intact. 

"Have  you  seen  the  new  Velasquez?"  Whiting  inquired 
kindly.  "It's  a  very  remarkable  work.  There  are  many 
celebrated  pictures  in  this  house,  you  know.  But  the  best 
things  are  kept  in  the  City,  naturally  —  ah,  Ravi,  one 
moment."  Ravi,  who  was  discussing  cosmetics  with  the 
broker's  wife,  turned  with  a  bored  air  to  the  banker.  The 
university  president  took  his  place  with  the  large,  blonde 
woman,  and  the  young  man  overheard  the  two  catalogue 
the  party,  enumerating  their  names  and  positions. 

"What  do  you  suppose  it  all  means?"  piped  the  lady  in 
her  childish  treble. 

President  Butterfield  gravely  shook  his  head. 

"A  business  crisis,  I  am  afraid.  There  are  serious  times 
ahead.  Of  course  the  country  is  sound,  but  possibly  as  a  peo 
ple  we  are  overenthusiastic — yes,  a  trifle  in  a  hurry."  He 
looked  benevolently  at  the  broker's  wife,  who  studied  him  out 
of  her  little  blue  eyes.  "A  crisis " —  and  what  did  that  mean, 
pray!  Every  one  knew  that  for  months  the  great  world 
gamble  had  been  in  full  dizzy  sweep.  The  broker  had  reaped 
his  harvest,  and  now  —  the  woman  with  the  childish  voice 
and  the  little  blue  eyes  knew  more  about  business  than  the 
worldly  Butterfield.  Now,  in  the  hour  of  peril,  when  some 
must  suffer  and  fail  —  who  were  to  be  the  victims?  That,  it 
was  her  desire  to  find  out.  Not  these  men  surely.  They 
would  save  themselves,  at  least.  .  .  . 

The  note  of  gayety  grew  louder  with  luncheon.     Laughter 


THE  COUNCIL  OF  THE   GODS  139 

and  high  voices  and  the  light  tones  of  women,  jest  and  story 
and  flirtation,  filled  the  room.  The  rich  food  and  the 
abundant  wine  fed  the  pulses  and  flushed  the  faces  of  men 
and  women.  With  keen  appetites  gained  in  the  open  air,  these 
men  of  power  feasted  as  if  that  were  their  one  end.  A  mood 
of  wonder  gained  the  young  man.  Could  these  men  treat 
life  so  lightly?  And  he  saw  that  the  rule  of  this  world  was 
to  hide  its  feeling,  its  purpose,  its  will  —  until  the  opportune 
moment. 

While  coffee  and  liquors  circulated  in  the  great  hall,  the  men 
gathered  about  Alexandra  Arnold,  and  vied  in  sallies  to  attract 
attention.  Dexter,  and  Ravi,  and  Oliver  Whiting  were  of  the 
little  court  around  her  chair  —  the  men  of  power,  the  strong 
that  she  had  praised.  And  seeing  her  thus  in  the  circle  of  men, 
Hugh  envied  them,  with  a  swift  desire  to  be  there  at  her 
side.  .  .  . 

Arnold  made  a  move,  and  the  elegant  Michael  Peter  relin 
quished  his  seat  beside  the  hostess  with  a  shrug  that  said,  — 
"This  imbecile  finance!"  (He  voted,  so  Hugh  learned  later, 
thumbs  down  upon  the  question  —  ruthless  Peter !)  Thus 
with  cigars  lighted,  flushed  with  food  and  drink,  these  gentle 
men  withdrew  into  Arnold's  private  rooms.  And  Hugh,  left 
with  the  women  and  the  non-combatants,  such  as  the  college 
president  and  the  broker,  the  Senator's  son  who  was  destined 
for  "  something  in  diplomacy,  "and  an  English  amateur  of  the 
fine  arts,  wished  that  he  might  be  with  the  others  in  Arnold's 
lofty  library  and  listen  to  the  debate  of  "  those  who  know." 

Presently  the  younger  group  disappeared  on  some  party  o& 
pleasure.  Butterfield  and  the  broker  with  Grant  strolled  r-gh 
to  view  the  stables,  the  garage,  and  other  appurtenar-^  one- 
the  great  house.  Butterfield  and  the  broker  exarMold  lived 
enthusiasm  the  exquisite  arrangement  of  these  offers  —  in  one 
to  watch  the  swift  revolution  of  the  compound 
supplied  power  for  the  estate.  Tn  the  cottage 


140  A   LIFE   FOR  A  LIFE 

"I  like  always,"  said  the  college  president,  "to  see  one  of 
these  engines  at  work.  It  represents  efficiency,  power  with 
out  waste!  That  is  the  keynote  of  our  highly  organized 
"-"  modern  civilization." 

The  broker  whistled.  Hugh  thought  of  the  council  now 
being  held  in  the  great  house  on  the  hill,  and  the  panic 
threatened  because  of  riotous  speculation  in  the  materials  of 
this  civilization. 

"  Power, "  Butterfield  resumed,  "  wherever  found  commands 
respect  —  the  man  who  can  do  something!"  He  looked 
gravely  at  the  young  man,  as  if  questioning  his  power,  his 
percentage  of  efficiency. 

"Or  make  the  other  fellow  think  he  can  do  something,"  the 
broker  added  jocularly,  from  the  depths  of  his  popular  wisdom. 

When  they  had  regained  the  terrace,  over  which  the  light 
fell  sunnily,  Nathaniel  Butterfield  stretched  himself  luxu 
riously  in  a  long  chair,  and  lighting  another  large  cigar 
crossed  his  nicely  booted  feet  in  repose.  Gazing  upon  the 
manorial  acres  of  Paradise  Valley,  he  resumed  his  leisurely 
monologue :  — 

"A  wonderful  place  this !  The  creation  of  less  than  a  dozen 
years.  The  magician  waved  his  wand,  and  lo !  this  came  into 
being,  all  organized  and  equipped  as  if  its  creator  and  his 
ancestors  had  lived  here  for  a  thousand  years.  There  is  your 
example  of  Power,  of  Efficiency." 

"That's  the  way  Arnold  does  things,"  the  broker  added, 
looking  interestedly  at  the  wing  within  whose  walls  so  much 
vas  happening  that  might  be  of  marketable  use  on  the  morrow. 
a*1* 'Such  men,"  continued  the  president,  focussing  his  gaze 
worlu-fjp  of  his  admirably  burning  cigar,  "are  great  reservoirs 
must  sun  concentrating  in  themselves  the  force  of  millions 
was  her  deti)eingg  to  be  expended  with  terrific  effect  for 
would  save  tlen  discharged  through  them." 

The  note  o  an  impression  all  right,"  said  the  broker,  flick- 


THE  COUNCIL  OF  THE    GODS  141 

ing  his  cigar  ash  in  the  direction  of  the  room  where  that  vessel 
of  energy,  Alexander  Arnold,  was  at  present  in  function. 
The  college  man  continued  in  what  might  be  called  the  in 
formal  lecture  tone :  — 

"  There  is  much  popular  misinformation  as  to  the  usefulness 
of  such  men.  It  is  undeniable,  the  importance  to  our  time 
of  the  concentration  of  energy  like  Arnold's.  Take  merely 
this  vast  estate.  With  our  system  of  popular  government, 
how  could  such  an  example  of  perfect  landscape  art,  of  baronial 
magnificence,  exist,  if  not  for  the  genius  of  men  like  Alexander 
Arnold?  Not  to  speak  of  his  great  gifts  to  the  public  in  art 
and  education." 

The  broker  smiled,  remembering  the  two  millions  of  dollars 
that  had  recently  been  obtained  for  the  university  by  the 
gentleman  at  his  side. 

"And  in  the  matters  of  industry,  I  take  it  the  same  mag 
nificent  concentration  of  control  is  a  necessary  step  in  human 
progress." 

"It's  come  to  stay,"  the  broker  assented. 

Hugh,  realizing  that  all  which  was  expected  of  him  was 
respectful  silence,  held  his  peace. 

"Did  you  ever  hear,"  Butterfield  asked  in  a  confidential 
tone,  "our  host's  early  history?" 

" From  somewhere  in  the  South,  wasn't  he?"  the  broker 
observed. 

"Yes  —  from  the  mountain  region.  His  family  lived  in 
one  of  those  little  hamlets  hidden  away  among  the  moun 
tains  a  hundred  miles  from  a  railroad.  One  of  those  families 
that  we  are  accustomed  to  regard  as  degenerate,  although 
springing  from  old  English  stock.  I  have  heard  of  that  one- 
room  cabin  beside  a  little  stream  where  Mr.  Arnold  lived 
with  father,  mother,  and  eight  brothers  and  sisters  —  in  one 
room,  just  think!" 

The  sleek  Nathaniel  shivered  at  the  picture.    In  the  cottage 


142  A  LIFE  FOR  A   LIFE 

of  Nathaniel's  father,  the  Reverend  Cyrus  Butterfield,  there 
had  been  three  rooms,  always,  and  only  a  discreet  four  in 
the  family. 

"It  shows  that  nothing  can  prevent  the  advance  of  real 
power!  About  the  time  of  the  war  Arnold  had  got  to  the 
settlements  and  was  trading  mules  with  the  Northern  army. 
Shortly  after  the  war  he  had  capital  enough  to  make  a  lucky 
investment  in  some  timber  lands  on  which  coal  was  discovered. 
That  led  him  naturally  into  railroads,  transportation.  From 
that  time,  it  has  been  the  old  story,  one  thing  after  another, 
until  now  —  '  Butterfield  waved  his  handsome  hand  vaguely 
toward  the  mansion. 

"He's  always  stuck  to  staple  articles/'  the  broker  added: 
"first  timber  and  coal,  then  iron,  and  always  transportation." 

"Including  the  mules,"  Hugh  suggested. 

"Phenomenal  genius  that  creates  opportunity!"  and  after 
enjoying  the  phrase,  the  college  president  continued,  "He 
married,  as  a  rather  young  man,  —  married  the  daughter  of 
an  old  Virginia  family,  socially  of  course  much  his  superior 
—  the  Jervis,  you  know!  They  were  poor,  destitute  we  may 
say,  at  the  close  of  the  war,  and  Arnold  already  had  means. 
They  say  that  Mrs.  Arnold  was  a  very  beautiful  woman  — 
one  can  believe  it  from  her  children  —  and  of  a  singularly 
sweet  disposition  —  but  sad,  constitutionally  depressed. 
After  the  family  moved  to  New  York  this  became  melan 
cholia  :  she  had  to  be  confined.  I  do  not  know  to-day  whether 
she  be  living  or  dead.  ...  It  explains  things  in  Arnold, — 
his  white  hair,  that  coldness  so  often  ascribed  to  him.  There 
are  sad  pages  in  the  history  of  the  greatest!  And  then  his 
children  —  Aleck  Jervis,  the  oldest,  was  a  handsome  lad, 
much  like  his  father,  only  larger  in  physique.  He  was  under 
me  at  the  university  —  in  fact,  I  tutored  him,  and  that  is  how 
I  first  came  to  know  the  family.  But  he  was  wild,  quite 
wild,  and  freakish  —  may  have  inherited  it  from  his  mother's 


THE   COUNCIL  OF  THE  GODS  143 

family.     Plenty  of  ability,  but  temperamentally  unbalanced 

—  like  the  mother. " 

" Where  is  he  now?"  the  broker  asked. 

"Who  knows?  I  doubt  if  his  father  does.  They  quarrelled, 
about  a  woman,  I  am  told."  His  voice  dropped  to  a  discreet 
whisper.  "It's  said  father  and  son  loved  the  same  woman 

—  that  was  his  weakness  —  and  when  Aleck  found  it  out 
there  were  high  words.    The  young  man  was  romantic  in 
his  notions.  .  .  .     He's  never  been  heard  from  since  so  far 
as  I  know.     Some  say  he's  dead.     But  I'm  inclined  not  to 
believe  that." 

"There  is  the  other  boy,"  Hugh  suggested,  recalling  the 
awkward  youth  at  the  baseball  game. 

"Ah,  yes  —  Morris.  He  graduated  from  us  —  nice  boy, 
but  queer  —  they're  all  queer!" 

"Except  Miss  Arnold,"  the  broker  suggested. 

"Except  Miss  Arnold,"  Butterfield  agreed,  with  a  peculiar 
smile.  "There's  less  of  the  mother  in  her.  Morris  is  just 
freakish,  you  know.  He  sailed  for  New  Zealand  the 
day  after  he  graduated  —  anthropological  fad.  His  father 
fitted  him  out  —  something  may  come  of  it  —  it's  well  to 
have  these  wealthy  families  interested  in  scientific  affairs." 

"So  the  girl's  the  only  one  left,"  the  broker  summed  up 
briefly.  "And  what's  she  goin'  to  do  —  marry  a  foreigner, 
I  suppose?" 

"Perhaps  not,  perhaps  not,"  the  college  president  mur 
mured.  "Miss  Arnold  has  a  good  deal  of  her  father's  per 
spicacity  —  she  may  prefer  an  American  of  power." 

"Like  Whiting  or  Ravi,"  the  broker  suggested.  "They 
seem  to  hang  around  her." 

"Whiting  is  a  plodder  —  nothing  but  a  plodder,"  the 
college  man  remarked  disdainfully.  "Arnold  put  him  where 
he  is.  Ravi  is  a  different  type.  There  is  an  instance,"  he 
turned  to  Grant,  pedagogically,  "to  refute  those  who  say 


144  A  LIFE  FOR  A   LIFE 

that  modern  life  does  not  offer  opportunity  to  men  of  abil 
ity.  Ten  years  ago  Ravi  did  not  exist,  so  to  speak,  and 
now  he  is  of  the  great  company," — he  pointed  signifi 
cantly  to  the  room  beyond.  "A  Pole,  he  was  beating  the 
pavements,  as  the  French  say,  a  briefless  lawyer.  No  one 
knows  exactly  how  he  got  his  foot  upon  the  ladder,  but  in 
the  period  of  railroad  reorganization  after  the  last  panic  he 
appeared  in  control  of  the  Atlantic  and  Pacific,  and  from 
that  time  to  this  day  he  has  been  our  most  commanding 
figure  in  railroads." 

"Smooth-looking  little  chap — he's  got  a  knife  in  his 
boot  all  right!"  the  broker  commented. 

"Ah,  there  are  the  ladies  at  last!"  Butterfield  exclaimed, 
rising  and  throwing  away  his  cigar.  The  act  seemed  sym 
bolic  of  shaking  off  the  broker  and  the'  young  man.  For 
President  Butterfield,  sociable  and  genial  man  as  he  was, 
never  wasted  himself  upon  the  lesser  when  the  greater  were 
in  sight. 

" Where  are  all  the  others?"  Mrs.  Rickers  piped  in  her 
childish  treble. 

"The  council  of  the  gods  still  continues,"  replied  the  col 
lege  president  homerically. 

"What  a  way  to  spend  this  pleasant  afternoon  —  all  shut 
up  in  the  house  smoking  and  talking  business!"  piped  Conny, 
prettily.  Her  husband  clicked  his  boots.  And  presently, 
when  the  council  of  the  gods  broke  up  and  the  men 
emerged,  chatting,  their  gay  air  subdued,  Mrs.  Rickers 
repeated  her  childish  impertinence  to  Alexander  Arnold,  who 
smiled  grimly.  (The  broker,  however,  left  Paradise  Valley 
that  afternoon,  and  by  means  of  the  London  cable  made 
a  famous  "killing"  in  the  early  morning.) 

Something  in  the  air  of  these  men,  —  the  solemn  face  of 
Oliver  Whiting,  the  bored  pose  of  little  Michael  Peter,  led 
Grant  to  divine  the  result.  His  chief  whispered,  "Very 


THE  COUNCIL  OF  THE  GODS  145 

serious  —  it  is  too  late,  I  am  afraid,  to  save  the  situation!" 
Which  being  interpreted,  as  Hugh  could  interpret  it,  meant 
in  stark  prose  that  the  greater  gods,  being  in  a  strong  posi 
tion,  had  resolved  to  allow  the  common  people,  together  with 
certain  lesser  divinities,  to  run  down  the  steep  place  into 
the  sea.  Grant  looked  over  at  the  old  man,  who  was  toying 
with  Conny  Rickers,  and  he  saw  that  this  one  at  least  had 
known  from  the  beginning  the  fate  of  the  National  Deposit, 
the  fate  of  all  the  unwary,  the  weak,  and  the  helpless.  For 
where  would  it  end,  this  crack  in  the  firmatnent  of  Pros 
perity  ? 

The  servants  appeared  with  tea  and  whiskey.    And  thus 
went  down  the  sun  upon  the  Sabbath  of  the  God  of  Mercy. 


XIV 


OF  DEEDS   AND   THE   MAN 

TOWARD  evening  the  gentlemen  of  the  Sunday  conference 
departed  as  they  had  come,  singly  or  in  twos  and  threes,  by 
swift  motors  that  sped  them  to  their  homes  over  the  hills 
and  by  the  fast  express,  specially  halted  at  the  private  sta 
tion  for  Arnold's  guests.  The  sluggish  broker,  who,  after 
a  brief  exchange  of  words  with  his  wife,  became  alert  and 
discovered  urgent  reasons  for  his  return  to  the  City,  was  one 
of  the  first  to  go.  Hugh  looked  for  the  banker,  who  was  clos 
eted  with  the  master  of  the  house,  and,  somewhat  loath,  was 
preparing  to  leave  Paradise  Valley  in  the  general  drift  when 
Alexandra  stayed  him. 

"Why  do  you  go  now?"  she  asked.  "Stay  over  —  we 
shall  have  some  music.  The  evenings  are  most  beautiful  — 
She  turned  to  another.  So  the  young  man  remained,  tempted, 
as  youth  would  be  tempted,  not  so  much  by  the  music  and 
the  beauties  of  Paradise  Valley  as  by  the  desire  to  be  even 
for  a  few  more  short  hours  near  the  beautiful  woman  who 
troubled  his  spirit. 

And  thus  again  by  a  woman's  word  and  a  bright  look  the 
curve  of  the  future  would  be  changed ! 

A  quiet  had  settled  upon  Paradise  Hall,  as  though  the 
weight  of  the  decision  passed  that  day  upon  worldly  matters 
had  subdued  all.  In  this  quiescent  twilight  mood  President 
Butterfield's  gift  for  eloquent  platitude  shone.  The  broker's 
wife,  who  had  been  glancing  at  the  day's  news,  exclaimed 
in  her  naive  treble :  — 

146 


OF  DEEDS  AND  THE  MAN  147 

"  They've  got  those  miners  out  at  last  —  after  three 
weeks  —  and  some  of  them  are  really  alive!" 

She  read  aloud  the  passage  recounting  the  heroic  resistance 
of  the  men  entombed  within  the  mine  and  the  wonderful 
courage  of  their  leader,  a  foreign  laborer. 

"What  a  man!"  Alexandra  murmured.     "A  hero!" 

"The  other  day,"  said  President  Butterfield,  "it  was  the 
story  of  an  unknown  sea  captain  who  saved  fifty  drowning 
men  and  women  at  peril  of  his  life.  The  world  is  full  of 
heroes,"  he  continued  in  his  rich,  reflective  tone,  "expectant 
of  their  hour.  They  say  it  is  a  material  age,  and  yet  nothing 
so  stirs  the  blood  of  our  people  as  the  tale  of  some  brave  deed 
like  this,  some  act  of  personal  prowess.  The  love  of  deeds  is 
keener  than  ever  before  in  the  history  of  the  world.  Our 
young  men  roam  the  earth  in  search  of  achievement, — the 
hunting  of  game,  the  taming  of  nature  —  fighting  dragons 
wherever  met." 

"That  is  life,"  said  Alexandra,  simply,  with  dancing  eyes. 

Young  Sylvester  Dexter,  who  was  destined  for  diplomacy, 
politely  hid  his  yawn. 

"'Tis  the  same  story  in  science  and  invention,"  the  uni 
versity  president  persisted.     "A  resistless  desire  to  accom 
plish.     Ours  is  no  longer  the  Elizabethan  opportunity  to 
explore   an  uncharted   globe.     Therefore    we    venture    into 
the   heavens.     You   see  the   civilized  world   a-tremble  with- 
excitement  at  the  bold  pilots  who  mount  aloft  in  the  sky,  * 
each  one  enlarging  the  sphere  of  human  activity  and  interest." 

"We  are  all  going  to  fly  some  day,"  piped  Conny  Rickers. 

"Business,  I  take  it,  has  its  fascination  for  most  virile  men 
because  of  the  instinct  for  doing,  —  spur  of  accomplishment ! 
It  incites  them  to  speculation,  the  conceiving  of  large  enter 
prises,  taking  hazardous  risks  —  the  same  love  of  deeds." 

The  banker  Whiting  nodded  approvingly,  —  it  was  a 
thought  he  often  made  use  of  in  his  dinner  speeches,  —  but 


148  A  LIFE  FOR  A   LIFE 

Alexander  Arnold  merely  flicked  the  ash  from  his  cigar.  It 
seemed  a  symbolic  act. 

"And  the  great  doers  of  our  day,"  Butterfield  persisted, 
"work  less  for  their  deserved  reward  than  for  the  joy  of  doing. 
If  the  reward  were  a  ribbon  instead  of  money,  these  indomit 
able  ones  would  still  push  to  the  goal.  Payment  is  incidental 
—  the  symbol  of  triumph." 

"Indeed!"  said  the  broker's  wife,  doubtfully,  and  Arnold 
had  the  flicker  of  a  smile. 

"But  I  advise  you  not  to  forget  the  payment  when  you 
have  a  job  to  be  done,  doctor,"  the  banker  suggested  jocu 
larly. 

Butterfield,  who  disliked  the  academic  title,  retorted 
sharply:  — 

"Doubtless  for  some  there  are  no  other  rewards.  But 
doing  is  the  proper  function  of  men.  The  only  men  admired 
by  real  women  are  the  doers  —  not  for  the  money  they  pos 
sess,  but  for  their  power!" 

With  this  final  touch  of  idealism  he  turned  his  handsome 
head  toward  Alexandra. 

"I  like  men  who  do  things,"  she  said  simply. 

"We  try  to  marry  heroes,"  the  broker's  wife  added. 

"Precisely;  women  demand  heroes,  —  doers.  And  as 
long  as  the  world  is  what  it  is  and  women  are  what  they  are, 
men  will  respond  with  deeds  to  lay  at  their  feet  —  industrial 
triumphs,  deeds  of  munificent  charity,  venturesome  deeds,  — 
ah,  the  world  is  full  of  deeds!  " 

His  modulated  voice  dropped  into  silence,  and  he  lighted 
his  cigar.  The  amiable  man  of  learning  had  voiced  the 
pagan  creed  of  this  world.  It  was  voiced  at  Paradise  Hall 
in  a  thousand  subtle  notes.  Through  the  long  windows 
which  were  open  upon  the  terrace  the  moonlight  fell.  Out 
side  it  was  a  misty  radiance  of  perfumed  springtide,  and 
from  below,  the  river  swiftly  flowing  over  a  pebbled  reach 


OF  DEEDS  AND  THE  MAN  149 

sounded  musically  in  the  night.  The  broker's  wife  paced 
the  terrace  between  Arnold  and  the  university  president, 
turning  her  white  neck  slowly  first  to  one,  then  the  other, 
raising  rhythmically  her  beautiful  bare  arms  in  the  moonlight. 
Young  Dexter  lounged  at  the  feet  of  Alexandra,  telling  tales  of 
the  far-off  South  American  state  from  which  he  had  returned. 
The  moonlight  fell  upon  her  head,  and  stole  over  the,  old 
picture  behind  her,  dimly  revealing  the  glow  of  the  painted 
canvas.  Now  and  then  the  living  woman  raised  her  head,  and 
with  indrawn  breath  and  fluttering  smile  looked  out  into  the 
night. 

Hugh  leaned  against  the  terrace  wall,  watching  the  silver 
shimmer  of  the  river  in  the  meadows,  scenting  the  rose- 
laden  air.  Low  tones  of  music  floated  from  a  distant  room. 
The  place  spoke  in  many  ways  to  the  soul  of  the  young 
man.  Like  another  earth  from  the  squalid  streets  <jf  the 
City,  the  narrow  places  where  his  life  had  been  set,  Paradise 
Valley  embodied  beauty  and  harmony, — the  creation  of  deeds. 
The  creation  of  deeds!  Thus  the  princes  of  the  earth  who 
could  triumph  in  the  fight  expressed  their  wills. 

A  musical  laugh  came  from  Alexandra,  who  had  risen  and 
was  standing  in  the  full  moonlight.  Hugh  turned  away. 

Accidentally  he,  the  foundling,  had  strayed  hither  into  the 
realm  of  power  —  unknown,  without  his  certificate  of  deeds, 
mere  stranger  at  the  feast.  Except  for  her,  the  woman,  he 
would  not  have  chafed  at  his  lowness.  But  now,  with  a  leap 
of  hot  pride,  he  said  to  himself  that  never  again  should  he  be 
there,  until  he  too  was  equipped  with  deeds,  and  as  an  equal 
might  cross  the  carpet  before  her.  .  .  . 

She  was  standing  behind  him  in  the  night,  —  this  splendid 
butterfly  of  Paradise  Valley,  waiting  for  that  one  —  doer 
of  magnificent  deeds  —  to  come  over  mountains  and  across 
fields,  upon  whom  she  would  bestow  herself,  —  the  one  most 
deserving  of  honor!  So  the  hot  youth  would  not  even  turn 


150  A   LIFE   FOR  A   LIFE 

to  look  at  her  beauty.     He  would  wait  until  he  came  with 
deeds  in  his  hands. 

The  river  below  sang  its  song  hi  the  moonlight.  Voices 
and  light  laughter  broke  across  the  sound  of  music  from  the 
house.  The  quick  sense  of  the  man  was  sharpened.  That 
day  he  had  come  close  to  the  warm  centre  of  human  destiny 
in  this  house,  where  fate  had  been  made  for  the  many  and  the 
few.  Waves  of  action  had  been  set  in  motion  that  would 
end  in  ruin  and  fear.  In  want  or  plenty,  the  old  world  would 
move  on,  shaking  to  and  fro,  after  its  wont.  .  .  .  But  the 
man  loved  a  woman!  All  else  was  forgotten,  was  nothing. 
The  living  symbol  of  power  fluttered  before  his  eyes,  — 
moonlight  on  her  white  face,  smiling,  speaking,  laughing, 
with  supple  movements,  —  all  in  white  and  gold  —  priestess 
of  joy  and  of  power.  And  while  the  young  man  adored, 
hi  his  loneliness,  that  silvery  voice  sounded  close  to  him :  — 

"0  solitary,  what  do  you  see  in  the  night?" 

And  looking  solemnly  into  her  eyes  he  answered :  — 

"I  see  the  world." 

She  laughed   lightly   at  his  grave    reply,   leaning   beside 
him  on  the  stone. 

" To-night  it  is  a  wondrous  world!"  she  murmured  joyously. 

He  made  no  answer,  but  before  his  look  she  moved  as  though 
troubled. 

"You  like  it?    You  must  come  again.    There  is  much 
that  you  have  not  yet  seen." 

And  he,  in  double  fashion :  — 

"No,  I  have  seen  all!" 

"Are  you  sure?"  she  urged  lightly. 

And  with  a  gesture  of  farewell,  she  moved  away  into  the 
shadow  of  the  house. 

In  the  morning  a  light  mist  hung  over  the  meadows  and  on 
the  hillsides  like  a  garment  of  gray  cloth.     Looking  back  from 


OF   DEEDS   AND   THE   MAN  151 

where  the  road  entered  the  woods,  Hugh  Grant  saw  the  great 
house  silent  and  shuttered  on  its  hill,  filmed  by  the  morning 
mist  through  which  the  sun  was  sending  rays  of  gold.  And 
he  saw  a  white  figure  standing  on  the  lofty  terrace  —  a  woman 
with  the  golden  light  of  the  morning  sun  on  her  hair,  gazing 
with  shining  eyes  over  Paradise  Valley.  .  .  .  The  carriage 
rolled  briskly  into  the  thick  forest. 

At  the  station  copies  of  the  morning  papers  were  to  be  found 
—  with  heavy  headlines.  President  Butterfield,  perusing 
his  paper  with  knitted  brow,  remarked  in  a  tone  of  concern :  — 

" There  is  a  panic!" 

"That's  what  they  call  it,"  Arnold  replied,  turning  to 
Grant. 

"So  you  are  David  Grant's  son?" 

"Yes." 

"Still  in  the  Bank?" 

"Yes,"  and  he  was  about  to  add,  "but  no  longer,"  when 
Arnold  continued  in  the  same  abrupt  manner :  — 

"You  would  like  a  larger  field?" 

"Yes  —  a  larger  horizon!" 

"Um,"  the  old  man  remarked,  and  his  keen  brown  eyes 
studied  the  young  man.  "There  is  enough  horizon — if  you 
know  how  to  find  it! "... 

On  their  way  to  the  Bank  of  the  Republic,  they 
passed  the  National  Deposit.  In  front  of  the  closed 
doors  began  a  long  line  of  men  with  a  few  women  that  ran 
some  distance  up  the  street.  The  police  had  formed  the 
crowd  into  this  orderly  line,  and  patrolled  before  it,  keeping 
the  street  open  for  traffic.  The  figures  in  that  long  line  were 
silent,  their  eyes  dumbly  watching  the  barred  doors,  as  if 
the  mere  act  of  patient  attention  might  get  them  access  to 
their  money.  The  banker  pointed  to  the  line  and  said  in 
a  low  tone:  — 

"That  is  panic!" 


152  A   LIFE   FOR  A  LIFE 

Alexander  Arnold  looked  impassively  at  the  waiting  people, 
and  made  no  remark. 

Not  far  beyond,  another  line  crowded  the  pavement  in 
front  of  the  Bank  of  the  Republic,  but  this  line  kept  moving 
forward  in  regular  form.  The  doors  were  not  closed !  Arnold 
and  the  banker  quickly  crossed  the  line  and  slipped  into  the 
bank. 

And  the  young  man  knew  in  the  depth  of  his  heart  that  the 
dumb  figures  outside  upon  the  pavement,  waiting  vainly  in 
front  of  the  National  Deposit  for  the  money  that  meant  to 
them  blood,  —  life  itself,  —  were  in  some  hidden  manner 
linked  to  this  old  man  who  went  before  him  into  that  inner 
shrine  where  the  secret  rites  of  finance  were  performed. 


XV 

THAT  LARGER  HORIZON 

THEN  the  years  passed,  —  one,  two,  three.  And  that 
stream  of  life  so  various,  which  has  borne  you  and  me  upon 
its  flood,  bore  also  these  creatures  of  God,  —  toward  our 
unknown  goal.  .  .  . 

Behold  a  new  horizon  for  the  foundling,  Hugh  Grant,  and 
surely  in  its  physical  sweep  of  plain  and  mountain  far  wider 
than  even  the  towered  City  from  the  window  of  the  Anarch's 
chamber,  or  from  the  sanctum  of  Benjamin  Gossom!  At  the 
farthest  reach  of  the  eye  lies  the  rocky  crest  of  great  mountains, 
their  pinnacles  glittering  purple  and  white  beneath  the  morn 
ing  sun,  and  nearer  the  bold,  barren  hills  opening  eastward 
to  the  rolling  plains  that  lift  and  fall  in  limitless  miles,  crossed 
by  the  black  line  of  railroad  which  cuts  the  earth  from  horizon 
to  horizon.  A  few  years  before,  this  was  all,  —  the  purple 
peaks  with  their  everlasting  snow,  the  bare  hills,  the  arid 
plain,  and  the  river  pushing  an  impulsive  course  through 
canons  from  the  mountains  to  the  plain.  Now,  as  Hugh  stands 
beside  the  spur  track  waiting  for  the  train  from  the  East, 
he  can  see  the  rude  streets  of  the  "city"  of  Tomahawk,  a 
thriving  place  sprawled  between  river  and  railroad.  Over 
the  bare  hilltop  behind  the  town  the  thin  poles  bearing  the 
transmission  lines  of  the  Rainbow  Falls  Power  Company 
shoot  up  out  of  the  void  and  go  galloping  in  a  straight  line 
across  hill  and  valley  and  plain  until  they  are  lost  in  the 
gray  distance.  Thence  southward  for  an  hundred  miles  and 
more  these  threads  of  shining  copper  wire  upon  their  steel 

153 


154  A   LIFE   FOR  A   LIFE 

posts  run  like  the  flight  of  an  arrow,  feeding  as  they  go  smelt 
ers  and  mines  and  mills,  feeding  Power  to  men.  The  city  of 
Tomahawk  —  and  many  another  human  ganglion  —  draws 
its  life  from  these  copper  wires.  It  is  what  Gossom  calls 
"  the  development  of  resources." 

The  copper  wires  sang  a  song  of  their  own  that  pleasant 
summer  morning,  vibrating  in  the  keen  mountain  wind  while 
their  glittering  threads  bore  the  precious  current  of  life. 
A  rancher  on  his  rough  pony  came  riding  over  the  hill  and 
paused  before  the  transmission  poles,  looking  wonderingly 
at  their  arrowlike  flight  across  the  open.  Slowly  he  rode 
away  towards  the  town.  The  copper  wires  sang  the  passing 
of  his  world,  —  the  open  spaces,  the  sky  and  the  earth  com 
mon  for  man  and  beast.  Hugh  looked  at  the  rude  figure. 
The  copper  wires  sang  a  song  for  him,  too,  this  beautiful  morn 
ing,  — a  song  of  labor  accomplished,  and  triumph.  On  the  far 
eastern  horizon  a  brush  of  black  smoke  stained  the  cloudless 
sky;  he  paced  impatiently  to  and  fro.  .  .  . 

Out  of  the  stress  of  panic,  the  wreck  of  the  National  Deposit, 
had  come  this  larger  horizon.  When  the  smoke  of  that 
disaster  had  cleared  away,  the  Bank  of  the  Republic,  greater 
than  ever,  had  in  its  vaults  the  debris  of  its  rival.  (Men 
said  that  Arnold  and  Whiting  had  conspired  to  this  end, 
but  none  knew.)  Among  the  litter  of  abortive  undertakings, 
uncertain  speculations,  were  the  securities  of  this  power 
company,  —  half  done,  bankrupt.  So  to  the  young  man  on 
whom  Whiting  looked  with  favor  it  fell  to  examine  and  re 
port.  He  had  had  the  divining  eye,  and  the  persuading  voice; 
on  his  decisive  demand  capital  had  opened  its  purse  to  com 
plete  the  huge  dam  across  the  canon  above  Tomahawk,  instal 
the  machinery,  and  build  the  transmission  lines.  Some  mil 
lions  of  gold  it  had  taken,  poured  out  upon  the  desert  by  the 
Bank  of  the  Republic  and  its  allies. 

Now  to-day  the  men  who  had  ventured  were  coming  to  see 


THAT   LARGER  HORIZON  155 

the  deed  done  for  them.  For  months  the  giant  generators 
had  been  purring  in  their  house,  and  the  current  of  life  had 
been  flowing  across  the  desert  country.  At  last  the  harvest 
of  his  eager  sowing  was  yielding  its  return,  and  the  man  was 
content.  As  he  paced  the  ground  beside  the  track  and  looked 
for  the  black  brush  upon  the  horizon,  he  had  more  than  labor 
well  performed  to  content  him,  more  than  liberal  salary  earned ; 
he  had  the  power  of  performance,  and  the  "larger  horizon."^ 
Magic-wise  he  had  been  wafted  from  the  crowded  streets  to 
these  wind-swept  open  places  of  the  earth  beneath  the  moun 
tains,  from  the  handling  of  paper  symbols  of  power  to  the 
stuff  of  power  itself.  And  power  had  bred  power,  subtly 
transmuting  matter  into  spirit!  It  was  a  beautiful  song 
that  the  copper  wires  sang  that  early  summer  morning. 

The  long  train  came  to  a  halt,  detached  a  car,  and  puffed 
away  westward.  The  curtained  car  was  without  sign  of  life. 
At  six  in  the  morning,  Hugh  remembered,  men  of  power  were  J 
usually  asleep!  He  waited.  Presently  a  woman  stepped 
forth  upon  the  platform  and  looked  out  across  the  open 'up 
land  to  the  mountains.  It  was  Alexandra  Arnold.  With  her 
hands  clasped  to  her  breast  she  gazed  at  that  purple  sky-line 
above  the  Rainbow  Falls,  her  lips  parted  in  a  little  sigh,  and 
she  murmured :  — 

"Ah!"  Seeing  the  waiting  man,  she  smiled  welcome  and 
said,  —  "Take  me  up  there!" 

"I  will!  —  will  you  come?" 

"What  is  that?"  she  demanded,  pointing  to  the  transmis 
sion  lines. 

"That  is  power!" 

She  looked  at  him  examiningly,  with  an  approving  smile, 
and  slowly  said,  breathing  in  the  warm,  rare  air,  "I 
like  it!" 

Presently  the  men  of  the  party  appeared,  and  the  day's 
work  began.  They  had  come  hither  as  for  a  pleasure  party, 


156  A   LIFE  FOR  A   LIFE 

sweeping  through  the  country  in  Ravi's  car,  flitting  from  spot 
to  spot  where  their  capital  lay  breeding.  They  were  going  to 
the  railroad  man's  famous  ranch  in  the  mountains  for  fishing 
and  hunting,  a  few  weeks,  then  would  swing  back  in  another 
arc  to  examine  railroad  and  mine.  It  was  a  princely  tour  of 
inspection. 

So  they  looked  at  their  property,  examined  figures,  listened 
and  questioned,  and  at  last  stood  on  the  dam  built  with  their 
money  to  snare  the  wild  river. 

"And  where  is  this  auxiliary  storage  you  wrote  of?"  the 
banker  inquired. 

"Rainbow  Lake,  above  the  falls,  there  in  the  mountains," 
Grant  replied. 

He  pointed  to  the  lofty  sky-line  near  the  clouds. 

"An  inexhaustible  supply!"  he  said. 

"A  long  way  off.  .  .  .  This  country  will  never  grow  up  to 
that,"  murmured  some.  The  young  man,  to  whom  this  plan 
was  dear,  answered  the  objectors  and  let  fall  the  amazing 
figures  of  power  lying  dormant  in  that  mountain  lake  fed  by 
the  snows.  The  banker  listened  with  eager  eyes.  Nathaniel 
Butterfield,  who  loved  these  expeditions  of  private  state, 
remarked  happily:  — 

"You  would  harness  the  snows  themselves!" 

"The  clouds,"  Grant  corrected,  pointing  to  the  mighty 
backbone  of  the  continent,  against  whose  barriers  the  drift 
ing  vapors  pressed.  And  as  he  described  the  natural  reservoir 
that  held  the  waters,  and  spoke  of  the  industrial  demands  of 
the  "city"  of  Tomahawk,  the  brown  eyes  of  old  Arnold 
rested  thoughtfully  upon  the  mountains.  He  had  dealt  with 
the  substance  of  power  all  his  life,  in  wood  and  coal  and  ore, 
the  basic  elements  of  things.  Here  at  the  feet  of  the  lofty 
mountains,  that  dorsal  column  of  an  hemisphere,  he  saw  an 
other  limitless  realm  of  power,  and  the  spirit  of  possession  in 
his  greedy  soul  was  reaching  out  to  control  it  with  his  consum- 


THAT  LARGER  HORIZON  157 

ing  desire  for  the  basic  matter  of  life.  But  it  was  Alexandra 
who  spoke  the  word :  — 

"Take  us  up  there  to  the  snow!" 

Thus  half  in  jest  at  a  woman's  whim,  the  expedition  was 
set  on  foot  to  penetrate  that  upper  wilderness  beneath  the 
snow-beds  of  the  mountains.  On  the  surface  a  party  of  pleas 
ure,  but  underneath  there  was  purpose,  hidden  and  ramify 
ing  remotely,  in  these  men's  minds.  As  they  left  the  shanty 
confines  of  Tomahawk,  the  woman  could  laugh,  but  the  men 
knew  that  here  was  the  kernel  of  much  life,  —  mines,  and 
timber,  mills,  and  land  to  be  sown. 

"Some  day,"  the  banker  said,  "we  shall  make  this  journey 
in  your  car,  Ravi!" 

Alexandra,  riding  ahead  with  Hugh  Grant,  murmured, 
"This  is  better!" 

And  the  young  man,  brisk  with  the  wine  of  the  mountain 
air,  his  heart  singing  the  song  of  coming  triumph,  happy  be 
side  the  woman  he  loved,  laughed  and  pointed  upward  to 
the  white  masses  in  the  azure  heavens. 

"His  railroad  will  never  reach  there!  " 

"But  you  will  take  me  —  up  there  to  the  very  crest!"  she 
announced  confidently. 

"Wherever  you  will!"  he  said. 

Obedient  man !  She  gave  him  the  recompense  due  her  ser 
vants,  men  —  a  quick  smile,  a  warm  glance  of  the  eye.  .  .  . 

So  from  valley  to  valley  they  rode,  and  upwards  ever 
nearer  to  the  heart  of  the  mountains  they  came.  They  camped 
at  night  among  tall  pines  in  silent  meadows.  Wild  land, 
this,  timbered  and  untracked,  but  the  men  of  power  observed 
its  wealth.  Here  must  lie  roads  to  new  realms.  And  they 
looked  upon  the  young  man  Grant  with  favor,  because  he  too 
had  shown  some  of  that  divining  instinct  of  the  greater  future 
to  be.  He  was  pointing  where  they  might  lay  hands  upon 
power.  When  the  coal  beneath  the  earth  had  been  dug,  when 


158  A   LIFE  FOR  A   LIFE 

the  oil  refused  to  flow,  the  clouds  would  still  yield  their  vapor 
against  the  barriers  of  the  mountains,  falling  in  a  mantle  of 
snow  over  the  peaks,  sinking  downward  in  water,  again 
transforming  through  engines  into  energy,  —  heat  and  light 
and  power,  without  which  men  could  not  live.  And  the  old 
white-haired  man,  with  the  keen  eyes  looking  about  over  the 
earth,  said  to  himself,  "  And  this  also  I  will  have,  if  it  proves 
good,  and  this  young  man  with  the  seeing  eye  shall  be  the 
finger  of  my  hand  in  this  matter."  For  this  one  planned  as  if 
life  were  to  be  forever,  and  all  would  come  to  him  that  he 
desired. 

At  last  they  reached  that  lake,  —  oval  mirror  of  the 
mountains,  fed  by  eternal  snows,  —  exhaustless  fount  of 
power.  Their  camp-fires  gleamed  among  the  tall  trees  like 
the  eyes  of  invading  beasts,  while  overhead  sailed  the  full 
summer  moon,  revealing  the  breasts  of  pure  snows  and  the 
rivers  of  ice  among  the  peaks  of  the  mountains. 

"Take  me  up  there!"  the  woman  ever  urged,  and  so  one 
gray  morning  the  two  slipped  from  the  sleeping  party  for 
their  venture. 

Upward  in  the  misty  dawn,  the  moon  setting  over  the 
shoulder  of  the  mountain,  they  pressed  their  way  around  the 
dark  lake  —  upward  to  the  river  of  frozen  snow  that  flowed 
between  the  peaks.  When  the  sun  rose,  it  spread  behind 
them  a  broad,  golden  pathway  over  the  white  floor,  gilding  the 
woman  against  the  glittering  whiteness,  touching  her  hair  with 
glory.  Her  gray  eyes  shone  exultantly. 

"They  still  sleep  there  below.  They  will  wonder  whither 
we  have  flown  over  the  mountains ! "  And  stretching  her  arms 
to  the  rising  sun,  "The  earth  is  ours  — we  are  above  it!" 

There  it  lay  beneath  them,  tremulous  in  the  bluish  dawn  of 
day,  the  lesser  hills  dimpling  away  to  the  great  plain. 

"Thousands  upon  thousands  of  miles,  clear  across  the  land," 
he  murmured. 


THAT  LARGER  HORIZON  159 

"And  up  there?"  her  demanding  gaze  reached  to  the  edge, 
sharp  and  white  with  drifting  snow  above. 

"Westward  and  ever  westward,  to  the  other  ocean ! " 

"  Come ! "  she  called.     "  To  the  roof  of  the  continent,  then ! " 

The  stillness  of  dawn  lay  among  the  peaks,  across  the  floor 
of  snow.  A  bit  of  cloud  floated  slowly  from  the  west,  and  cir 
cled  about  the  topmost  peak.  They  pushed  on,  two  small 
atoms  on  this  white  floor.  Alone!  She  was  woman  and  he 
man.  Nothing  more.  In  that  wide  expanse  of  driven  snow 
above  the  earth  whither  they  had  climbed,  they  were  alike, 
stript  of  all  differences,  mere  woman  and  man.  The  sense 
of  their  isolation  filled  the  man  with  strange  joy,  and  a  smile 
upon  the  woman's  face  answered  his  look.  For  the  time  she 
was  content  to  slip  the  complex  inwoven  web  of  circumstance, 
and  be  thus  alone  with  him.  .  .  . 

They  looked  upward  to  the  knife-edged  drift,  and  slowly 
advanced,  tracking  the  feathery,  voluminous  snow.  At  last 
they  stood  upon  that  edge,  dividing  the  waters  of  the  continent. 
Above,  before,  behind,  the  unbroken  pack  of  snows,  garnered 
year  by  year!  Like  sentinels  sharp  peaks  of  rock  were 
set  on  every  side  of  this  field  of  snow. 

"For  miles  unnumbered,  —  the  reservoir  of  the  gods!" 
He  pointed  to  the  vast  snow-field. 

"And  this,"  she  murmured,  "is  your  seat  of  power!" 

"Out  of  it  shall  come  light  and  heat!" 

She  took  some  handfuls  of  the  feathery  stuff  and  let  them 
sift  through  her  fingers. 

"Diamonds,  and  pearls,  and  topaz!" 

"Your  jewels  shall  be  transmuted  and  will  appear  far  down 
in  the  plain  among  men  as  the  steady  gleam  of  light,  the  rhythm 
of  swift  engines!  See  that  jutting  front  of  the  mountains." 
He  indicated  the  curving  surface  of  the  range.  "That  divides 
the  waters.  The  mountains  are  like  hands  stretched  into 
the  heavens  to  gather  the  moisture  that  envelops  the  planet. 


160  A  LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

And  down  these  steep  ways  between  their  shoulders  the  thing 
falls,  until  it  meets  our  dams,  and  there  is  transformed  again 
to  be  sent  over  the  earth  along  a  copper  wire." 

Her  gray  eyes  flashed  with  the  poetry  of  the  theme. 

"The  sun  and  the  cloud!" 

"We  strip  the  power  from  the  heavens  for  man's  use." 

"Power,"  she  mused  with  smiling  lips,  —  "power,  it  is  life! " 
Simple  expression  of  the  creed  of  her  race,  the  words 
sounded  in  the  stillness,  —  the  words  of  an  idle  woman,  - 
with  a  strange  foreboding.  A  cloud  cast  a  long  shadow  across 
the  snow,  and  the  air  drew  coldly  out  of  the  north.  Glancing 
up  at  the  gray  bank  already  massing  around  the  upper  peaks, 
Hugh  turned  to  descend. 

"Come!    We  are  due  down  yonder!" 

The  dimpled  plain  still  lay  in  sunlight  beneath  them,  un 
dulating  in  valley  and  forest-covered  hill.  Venturesome,  the 
woman  peered  around  the  edge  of  the  mountain  shoulder 
into  a  narrow  valley. 

"Look  there,"  she  cried  exultingly.  "That  little  oval 
lake  is  a  jewel  for  a  queen.  Its  color  is  onyx."  And  below 
lay  a  second  glacier  lake,  all  rimmed  with  thick  green  trees. 
"Emerald!"  she  named  it.  "And  the  third  jewel,  there  in 
the  valley,  with  a  pebbly  margin,  —  it  is  turquoise!  A  string 
of  jewels  upon  the  mountains.  Come,  get  me  my  jewels!" 

She  leaped  with  the  word  down  the  steep  slope  of  snow,  and 
sliding,  steadying  herself  with  waving  arms,  threw  back  a  chal 
lenge  to  him  to  follow.  His  startled  call,  "Alexandra!" 
was  lost  among  the  empty  peaks.  Her  voice  came  up  faintly 
from  below,  "Come  with  me!" 

He  plunged  downward,  and  near  the  tiny  lake  overtook 
her.  As  they  looked  back  up  the  steep  side,  the  wind  caught 
the  edge  of  the  drift;  then  there  came  a  thundering  sound  of 
falling  snow.  The  place  where  they  had  stood  was  buried 
beneath  tons  of  the  avalanche.  To  the  woman's  startled  look, 


THAT  LARGER  HORIZON  161 

Hugh  replied  gravely,  "That  way  is  closed.  And  this  is  the 
Valley  of  the  Seven  Peaks  —  unknown  to  me." 

She  repeated  buoyantly,  "At  least,  that  way  is  closed. 
Therefore  we  shall  find  our  way  out  here!" 

They  looked  at  each  other,  there  in  the  narrow  valley, 
hemmed  in  by  precipitous  rocks,  the  rampart  above  buried  in 
its  snowy  burden,  and  below  the  three  jewel-lakes  one  after 
another.  Death  stood  upon  that  summit  above  where  a  few 
moments  before  they  had  lingered.  And  the  woman's  gray 
eyes,  seeing  death  escaped  by  so  little,  became  grave. 

"I  will  follow  you,"  she  whispered. 

"Then  come,  swiftly!"  he  exclaimed,  taking  her  hand. 
His  heart  beat  fast,  as  he  strode  on  toward  the  unknown 
valley.  "  I  will  follow  you,"  she  had  said!  Oh,  wonderful! 
Here  between  rock  and  rock,  between  gray  cloud  and  snowy 
earth,  she  was  but  the  woman  and  he  the  man.  All  else  of 
eternity  was  lost.  She  was  the  woman  and  would  follow,  and 
he  the  man  to  lead. 

Swiftly,  silently,  they  sped  downward  to  the  little  lake  of 
onyx,  at  the  border  of  the  snows.  There,  panting,  they  rested 
until  the  first  frozen  drops  of  the  storm  stung  their  faces, 
warning  them  to  be  gone.  Looking  up  into  the  grim  face  of 
the  heavens  above  the  snows,  they  hastened  toward  the  next 
lake  of  the  chain.  This  was  set  in  a  green  meadow,  but  the 
turquoise  color  had  faded  from  the  water.  Alexandra  knelt 
beside  the  lake  and  drank.  Brushing  back  her  tumbled 
hair,  she  glanced  at  him  radiantly. 

"What  a  place  to  stay  in!" 

The  snows  above  and  the  green  forest  beneath,  this  little 
pool  in  the  midst  of  its  green  meadow  between  the  sheer  walls 
of  rock. 

"For  life,"  he  added. 

She  looked  down  into  the  still  water  where  were  mirrored 
the  dark  peaks.  The  misty  dampness  fell  upon  her  hair  like 


162  A   LIFE  FOR  A   LIFE 

diamond  points.  .  .  .  Two,  sheltered  by  the  rocky  walls, 
forever  hid  from  the  world  —  it  was  a  dream  —  the  woman 
smiled. 

Docilely  she  followed  his  swift  pace  to  the  third  lake,  which 
was  girt  by  old  forest-trees,  growing  stout  and  lofty  in  the 
marshy  ground,  tapering  upward  toward  the  lowering  sky. 
The  rain  now  fell  steadily. 

"  We  must  not  wait,"  he  urged,  as  she  would  linger  to  bathe 
her  arms  and  hands  in  this,  the  last  of  the  jewel-chain.  "  I  do 
not  know  where  we  are  —  where  this  valley  leads.  It  may  be 
a  long  journey  out." 

She  smiled  confidently,  saying,  "We  shall  find  our  way." 

He  studied  the  marching  clouds  on  the  peaks  above,  and 
then  sought  the  little  stream  that  flowed  from  the  lake  among 
the  trees.  This  must  be  their  way  downward,  following  the 
water  until  it  reached  the  river. 

"We  must  save  your  strength  —  we  do  not  know  the  end." 

"Don't  think  of  me!"  But  in  a  moment,  "Oh,  I  am  so 
hungry!"  she  remarked,  with  the  wonder  of  a  child. 

The  man  replied  carelessly,  "A good  appetite  for  dinner." 
But  he  considered  the  likelihood  of  night  overtaking  them 
before  they  had  escaped  from  the  winding  valley.  A  shelter 
beneath  one  of  these  watersoaked  firs  —  it  was  impossible. 

The  rain  fell  persistently.  Mist  floated  among  the 
tops  of  the  trees.  Stumbling  over  the  thick  underbrush,  the 
dead  limbs,  they  pushed  toilsomely  on,  through  thickets,  under 
dripping  trees,  into  the  boiling  stream  which  was  their  guide. 
At  first  Alexandra  remarked  the  cloudy  cliffs,  the  grim  trees, 
then  slowly  silence  settled  between  them.  She  was  there  by 
his  side,  with  a  quick  smile  when  he  looked  at  her  in  concern, 
gallant  and  ready.  They  waded  again  into  the  mountain 
stream,  now  swollen,  and  he  held  her  against  the  rushing  water. 

"The  canon  is  opening,"  he  said,  "not  far  now  to  the 
camp!  We  shall  be  out  in  a  little  while." 


THAT   LARGER  HORIZON  163 

She  looked  up  buoyantly.  But  her  steps  began  to  lag. 
11  Could  we  wait  a  moment?"  she  begged. 

"Not  more  than  a  moment,"  he  replied  anxiously.  There 
was  only  an  hour  of  daylight  left,  and  then!  "My  watch  has 
stopped,"  he  muttered.  "Come!" 

"Taskmaster!"  she  murmured,  still  sitting.  "And  I  am  so 
hungry!  Aren't  there  birds  or  things?"  He  held  out  a 
hand.  "  Let  me  sit  here  while  you  fetch  something  to  eat  from 
the  camp — and  dry  clothes!"  She  showed  a  dripping 
sleeve. 

He  grasped  her  arm  and  forced  her  to  rise.  Obediently  she 
dragged  step  after  step,  he  supporting  her,  at  first  with  his 
hand  upon  her  arm,  then  with  his  arm  about  her,  half  dragging 
her  along  the  rough  way.  Thus  they  made  slowly  in  the  wan 
ing  light  another  stage  of  the  long  journey.  At  last,  with  a 
gentle  smile  upon  her  lips,  she  whispered,  "I  am  so  tired  .  .  . 
please ! "  and  sank  unconscious  into  his  arms. 

He  laid  her  upon  the  deep  moss  beneath  a  fir,  and  poured 
the  last  of  his  small  store  of  brandy  between  her  lips.  The 
gray  eyes  opened;  she  tried  to  rise,  then  sank  back  upon  the 
soft  bed  wearily.  "It's  too  good  —  let's  stay  here  —  they'll 
find  us  somehow!" 

He  took  her  in  his  arms  like  an  unresisting  child,  and  raised 
her  upon  his  shoulders.  She  clasped  her  arms  about  his  neck. 
Then,  staggering,  he  started  once  more  downward  in  the  des 
perate  attempt  to  reach  a  place  of  safety  with  his  burden  before 
the  night  completely  shut  in.  It  seemed  that  for  hours  he 
staggered  on  thus,  in  a  kind  of  dream,  following  the  wandering 
course  of  the  icy  stream.  The  walls  of  the  valley  had  broad 
ened  and  were  now  hid  in  the  mist  and  gloom  of  stormy  twi 
light.  He  bore  her  steadily  through  the  dark  forest.  She 
was  lost  in  sleep,  waking  once  to  murmur,  "Not  there  yet? 
Let  us  rest  —  stay  here!"  And  he  answered  soothingly, 
"A  little  farther!" 


164  A  LIFE  FOR  A   LIFE 

A  wonderful  radiance  of  happiness  had  come  over  the  man. 
He  forgot  hunger  and  fatigue.  Except  for  the  stout  determi 
nation  that  urged  him  forward  he  would  gladly  have  rested 
his  burden  there  beneath  some  sheltering  tree,  have  built  her 
a  hut  of  branches  in  the  wilderness,  and  sat  down  to  wait,  con 
tent  in  this  warm  joy  of  loving.  But  he  stumbled  forward, 
hearing  more  distantly  in  his  dream  the  rush  of  water  over 
stones,  the  wind  in  the  great  trees.  The  warmth  of  her  body 
penetrated  him;  her  arm  about  his  throat  was  like  a  band  of 
fire.  He  dreamed  they  were  of  one  flesh  and  spirit.  His 
cloudy  mind  had  returned  to  the  visions  of  his  boyhood:  he 
was  bearing  at  last  the  woman  of  his  desire  close  within  his 
arms,  and  there  was  nothing  between  them,  evermore,  no  bar 
rier  of  flesh  nor  of  earth  between  them  and  their  love  —  noth 
ing,  nothing!  .  .  . 

He  stumbled  upon  a  fallen  tree,  tried  to  recover,  fell.  When 
he  awoke  he  saw  the  red  glow  of  a  fire,  and  squatted  before  it 
was  the  ridiculous  figure  of  Nathaniel  Butterfield  in  baggy 
Scotch  knickerbockers  and  Tyrolean  cap  that  sat  jauntily 
upon  his  grizzled  Olympian  pate. 

"My  dear  fellow,"  he  drawled,  "what  on  earth  were  you 
trying  to  do  with  Miss  Arnold?" 

"Reach  the  clouds,"  Hugh  answered  solemnly. 

"But  where  have  you  been?" 

"God  knows!"  he  sighed.  "All  she  needs  is  some  food  — 
and  rest!"  He  relapsed  into  stupor. 

t      The  next  day,  enveloped  in  the  cloudy  folds  of  a  lace  gown, 

I  with  a  single  band  of  gold  about  the  throat,  Alexandra  lay  in  a 

long  chair  in  the  private  car.     Rosy,  light-hearted,  and  gay, 

she  amused  herself  with  the  young  man,  who  sat  dumbly 

before  her,  humble,  and  full  of  fear. 

"Another  time,"  she  teased,  "we  might  not  come  back 
from  the  snows  —  if  I  weighed  more!" 

"It  was  an  awful  chance,"  he  murmured,  looking  at  her 


THAT   LARGER  HORIZON  165 

with  eyes  which  said,  "and  if  it  were  ten  times  the  chance,  I 
would  give  my  life  for  it!" 

"Our  great  adventure!" 

"The  rape  of  the  princess,"  Conny  Rickers  giggled  in  her 
falsetto.  "I  thought  you  had  skipped  to  the  other  coast  — 
I  urged  the  anxious  father  to  telegraph." 

"We  might  have  —  if  we  had  only  thought  to  take  some 
food!"  laughed  the  princess. 

Grant  rose  stiffly  to  leave,  the  shriek  of  the  eastern  express 
just  sounding.  This  foolish  chatter  dimmed  the  beauty  of 
those  hours. 

"It  is  very  dangerous,"  the  university  president  pro 
nounced,  "to  go  into  such  hazardous  ventures,  unprepared." 

"There  are  times  when  one  is  thrust  into  hazard,"  Grant 
began  haughtily. 

"And  then  if  one  is  a  man — "Alexandra  completed.  .  .  . 

Thus  he  left  her,  enveloped  in  the  quibble  and  chatter  of  her 
world,  equipped  in  the  clothes  and  the  luxury  of  her  sophisti 
cated  self.  His  woman  of  the  snows  had  slept  and 
awakened  —  thus! 

"You  know,"  she  said,  accompanying  him  to  the  door  of 
the  car,  "I  sail  next  month  —  the  winter  in  Rome,  I  suppose. 
You  will  be  busy  here?  " 

Her  eyes  rose  above  him  to  the  glittering  snowtops,  con 
fused  with  cloud. 

"Yes!"  he  replied,  waiting.  For  one  moment  the  gray 
eyes  rested  upon  him  gently,  and  he  saw  the  woman  he  had 
borne  through  the  storm.  Then,  as  the  train  coupled  the  car 
with  a  jerk,  —  "Good-by!  Go  back  to  your  clouds  and 
snow!"  She  gave  him  a  strange  smile,  in  which  there  was 
mingled  the  two  women  he  knew  of  her.  .  .  . 

With  that  same  enigmatic  smile,  her  arms  about  a  cluster  of 
yellow  roses,  —  spirited  hither  into  the  wilds  by  the  only  magic 
that  Michael  Peter  could  command, — she  stood  in  the  door- 


166  A  LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

way  of  the  car  and  waved  him  farewell.  He  could  read  upon 
the  smiling  lips,  "Go  back  to  your  clouds!  For  I  sail  to 
other  coasts — we  may  never  meet  again." .  .  .  And  the  long 
train,  gathering  speed,  bore  her  away  across  the  arid  plain  until 
to  his  straining  eyes  she  was  but  a  stain  of  white  and  gold  at 
the  apex  of  the  vanishing  car. 

A  cloud  of  swirling  dust  hid  even  this.  Alexandra  had 
vanished,  speeding  away  across  the  continent  to  the  peo 
pled  cities,  the  joyous  world  of  men  and —  roses.  The  woman 
of  his  vision,  who  for  the  moment  had  stepped  from  the  clouds 
above  Rainbow  Falls,  was  left  behind  up  there,  where  the 
earth  met  the  sky  in  a  shimmer  of  white  and  azure. 

So  he  went  back  to  his  clouds  to  "  harness  the  snows/'  in 
the  mountain  silence.  And  as  he  passed  hither  and  thither 
on  long  journeys,  about  his  man's  work,  there  was  a  secret 
song  in  his  heart.  For  the  woman  of  his  vision  had  come  to 
him;  he  had  borne  her  in  his  arms  up  there  aloft.  Let  the 
gorgeous  butterfly,  this  princess  Alexandra,  float  whither  she 
would,  she  had  left  within  the  inner  chamber  of  his  heart  this 
other  one  that  would  journey  with  him  always  —  to  the  end. 

Thus  came  to  him  "that  larger  horizon,"  whereof  Alexander 
Arnold  in  his  wisdom  had  not  known. 


XVI 

THE   STEPS   OF   POWER 

BACK  to  the  great  City  of  men !  For  the  glistening  wires 
lead  thither,  from  Rainbow  Falls,  from  every  corner  of  the 
vast  country,  centring  in  the  misty  canons  of  the  lower  city. 

And  now  it  is  a  towered  city,  indeed,  to  which  the  man  re 
turns.  As  a  stranger  he  passes  through  its  crowded  streets 
and  gazes  upward  to  the  mountainous  heights  of  lofty  build 
ings,  topping  one  another  in  the  mad  will  to  touch  the  sky. 
He  remembers  the  steel  web  on  the  corner  of  the  avenue  that 
the  architect  Ellgood  and  the  bankrupt  builder  once  bartered  a  • 
piece  of  their  souls  to  build.  Already  it  has  disappeared,  giving 
way  to  a  marble  shaft,  its  golden  pinnacle  lost  in  the  upper 
smoke.  And  the  City  Construction  Company  has  been  en 
gulfed  in  the  National  Building  Company,  its  name  large  on 
the  hoarding.  .  .  .  Where  the  National  Deposit  had  been 
there  was  a  slit  in  the  canon  wall,  a  deep  pit  in  which  men 
were  digging  amid  hissing  steam  for  new  foundations. 
Failure  was  thus  erased.  .  .  . 

For  the  black  eddy  of  Panic  has  been  forgotten,,,  and  the 
upward  wave  of  prosperity  is  flooding  to  ever  higher  levels 
throughout  the  land.  " These  eighty  millions!"  so  fondly 
invoked  by  Gossom  in  his  weekly  and  monthly  prayers. 
"The  world  has  never  beheld  such  a^ihighty  people."  From 
sea  to  sea  the  "  wheels  of  industry  $re  whirring."  Colossal 
enterprises  spring  by  night  from  the  trains  of  the  jugglers  of 
finance.  The  broad  land  yields  its  si|ent  increase,  and  from 
the  fields  and  the  mountains  and  the  fofests  the  golden  stream 

167 


168  A  LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

rolls  downward  to  the  great  City,  filling  the  vaults  of  its 
treasure  houses.  And  in  the  pages  of  Ambition  may 
be  read  weekly  the  stories  of  the  heroes,  —  with  the 
tables  of  their  possessions.  Hear  President  Butterfield, 
phrasing  the  thought  of  the  contemplative  observer,  the  guide 
of  youth,  "Young  men  should  rejoice  that  it  is  their  destiny 
to  live  in  such  an  era  of  great  deeds  as  the  present!"  The 
young  men  whoop  at  their  games,  as  is  the  wont  of  young 
men,  and  rejoice  to  be  alive  hi  any  era  of  history. 

Those  champing  steeds  with  metal  harness  that  fascinated 
the  eyes  of  Hugh  Grant  when  first  as  a  youth  he  watched  the 
pageant  of  the  City  street  are  now  antique, —  still  used  by  the 
unconvertible  aged,  who  invest  their  money  in  three-per-cents 
and  keep  the  Sabbath.  In  their  place  the  streets  are  filled 
with  swift  chariots  and  a  bad  smell,  and  men  are  talking  of 
flying,  to  escape  the  crowded  earth.  An  hour  cut  from  an 
ocean  voyage  is  heralded  as  human  triumph.  The  biggest, 
the  fastest,  the  richest  yield  to  something  yet  bigger  and  faster 
and  richer,  which  will  hold  the  crown  for  the  day.  "  Achieve 
ment!"  cries  Gossom,  "is  in  the  air.  The  powers  of  men 
multiply." 

And  yet,  in  this  "Splendid  Renaissance"  —  a  Butterfield 
phrase  —  life  in  its  elements  remains  much  as  it  has  been 
always  for  you  and  me.  The  same  black  stream  of  toiling 
human  atoms  flows  to  and  fro  across  the  giant  causeway.  The 
same  dingy  rows  of  brick  boxes  house  the  millions  who  labor 
and  long.  The  same  hot  struggle  for  the  spoils  seethes  up 
and  down  the  canons  ojtfbe  City.  And  the  golden  flood,  — 
transmuted  into  pap^^Btles  in  bank  vaults  —  becomes 
surely  as  always  the'^Hpon  of  the  strong.  For  man  is 
the  same  in  spirit.  .  1  .  • .  ^ 

w 

.    Hugh  entered  the  fftciliar  banking-room  where  his  youth 
and  stoodBesido  the  assistant  cashier's  desk. 


THE  STEPS   OF  POWER  169 

"How  are  you,  stranger?"  Venable  greeted  him  warmly. 
"Back  in  your  old  home!"  He  pointed  to  the  moving  file 
before  the  little  windows  of  the  wire  screen.  "And  you  have 
grown,  man,  grown!"  No  longer  the  slim  stripling,  with  the 
clean  white  face,  that  had  once  stood  there,  but  the  solid  man 
of  firm  flesh  and  bronzed,  weathered  skin.  Venable  looked 
his  admiration  for  the  man.  And  to  Hugh  the  assistant 
cashier  seemed  shrunken,  worn  by  the  grinding  years, 
also  shabby  and  old.  But  the  laughing  gleam  of  blue  eye, 
was  still  warm. 

"You  have  made  good,  I  hear ! "  Keen  phrase  of  the  street ! 
It  sounded  hearty,  but  wistful,  to  the  younger  man.  Why 
had  the  goddess  brought  the  chance  to  the  youth,  and  never 
to  him?  And  Hugh  thought,  also,  why'  never  the  chance 
to  him,  old  Ven! 

"Come  home  to  cash  in?"  queried  Venable.  "Thi&new 
company  —  the  merger  they  are  talking  about?" 

"  Yes  —  for  that  and  other  reasons."  So  they  talked  Busi 
ness  awhile,  and  then  as  Hugh  left,  the  assistant  cashier  said, 
"Don't  forget  Columbia  Heights." 

The  young  man  smiled  and  nodded,  asking,  "How  are 
you  all?" 

"Just  the  same!  Making  the  ends  meet  and  trying  to 
solve  the  problem  of  patient  poverty."  And  he  saw  the  drab 
suburb  with  its  changeless  days,  —  the  wife  older  and  ampler, 
the  boys  pushing  upward,  demanding  their  life,  the  suppressed 
ambitions  for  them,  adjustment  with  circumstance.  .  .  . 

"And  Madeleine?"  he  asked. 

"The  same,"  was  the  reply.  "Only  she  must  do  it  all 
now!" 

They  spoke  of  the  Bank,  and  Venable  said,  "We  are 
becoming  a  great  power  —  national.  .  .  .  Oliver  has 
begun  to  build  his  monument  —  over  there  where  the 
National  Deposit  once  was,  you  remember?" 


170  A    LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

"What?" 

"  A  splendid  home  for  us.  Ellgood  is  doing  it  —  in  marble 
and  bronze.  You  will  see  the  plans  in  Oliver's  office  —  he  is 
proud  of  them.  No  big  building,  you  understand,  but  a  jewel- 
box,  a  marble  temple,  the  snobbery  of  money.  The  site  cost 
two  millions,  and  we  take  it  all  —  for  Oliver's  monument. 
The  directors  humor  him  in  gratitude  for  our  success.  Another 
six  months,  and  you  will  find  us  housed  within  the  temple 
behind  marble,  with  the  bust  of  Oliver  the  First  at  the  door, 
and  the  story  of  Oliver  pictured  around  the  walls  —  why 
not?  Oliver  learning  the  lessons  of  prudence  at  the  knee 
of  Benjamin  Franklin;  Oliver  accepting  the  trust  of  the 
people's  money;  Oliver  presiding  at  a  directors'  meeting  of 
the  Universal  Power  Company. " 

Hugh  burst  into  a  fit  of  laughter  as  Venable  with  twinkling 
eyes  elaborated  the  theme  in  his  accustomed  manner. 

"Oliver  teaching  youth  the  principles  of  finance  —  yes, 
why  not?  A  splendid  fresco!  In  ancient  Egypt  kings  built 
their  tombs  in  the  flower  of  life  and  took  thither  their  wives 
and  concubines  to  dwell  with  them  forever.  Why  shouldn't 
our  banker  kings  build  their  monuments  while  they  live? 
And  if  gossip  is  right,  Oliver  is  about  to  make  an 
almost  royal  alliance.  .  .  .  We'll  have  the  stranger  and  the 
young  coming  to  see  us  and  to  admire  the  bust  of  Oliver,  — 
to  see  what  Prudence  and  Thrift  will  do  for  a  man. " 

He  waved  Hugh  toward  the  private  offices  of  the  president, 
and  as  Hugh  sought  the  banker  he  was  still  laughing  at 
Venable's  extravagant  fancy,  thinking,  "And  why  never  the 
chance  for  him,  also,  in  all  the  chances  of  this  prosperous 
time?".  .  . 

"Ah,  Grant!"  the  banker  exclaimed  with  cordial  warmth. 
"I've  been  looking  for  you  —  telephoned  about  the  hotels." 
He  waved  Hugh  to  a  seat  and  waved  the  architect  from  his 
audience.  Hugh,  still  smiling  from  Venable's  quip,  recalled  the 


THE   STEPS   OF  POWER  171 

day  when  Arnold  had  brought  him  hither,  and  he  had  sat  for 
gotten  beside  the  door,  and  also  that  other  time  when  Oliver 
Whiting  was  trembling  in  fear.  But  the  banker,  stout  and 
rosy,  gave  no  sign  of  anxieties  these  days.  His  cheerful  air  of 
habitual  success,  had  something  youthful  in  it.  "See  our 
plans,"  he  said,  unrolling  the  architect's  sketches.  "Our  new 
building  —  very  fine,  eh?  Ellgood's  best  work,  I  think, 
though  some  prefer  the  Museum  he's  doing  for  Arnold." 
He  looked  lovingly  at  the  delicate  lines  of  the  Grecian  temple 
with  its  heavy  portico  and  rounded  pillars.  "And  the  interior, 
—  oh,  something  very  reserved,  all  marble!"  Oliver,  to  the 
banker  and  the  philanthropist  and  the  horticulturist,  had 
added  a  certain  connoisseurship  in  the  arts. 

"Well,"  he  broke  off,  buoyantly.  "All  goes  well,  eh? 
The  new  plant  is  ready." 

"We  can  turn  on  the  power,"  Hugh  said,  "whenever  the 
decision  is  rendered." 

"That  suit  —  very  annoying."  He  paused.  "Talbot  tells 
me  he  expects  the  hearing  before  the  Supreme  Court  at 
Washington  will  be  this  coming  month.  It  may  delay  us  —  a 
little,"  he  resumed  in  his  buoyant  manner.  "But  Talbot 
tells  me  we  are  sure  of  getting  a  decree.  Those  fellows 
haven't  a  leg  to  stand  on." 

"That  isn't  the  feeling  out  there." 

"Mere  clamor,"  the  banker  retorted  pettishly.  "All  this 
socialistic  talk — they'll  frighten  capital,  and  then  where  shall 
we  be?  Another  panic!" 

His  cherubic  face  became  suddenly  grave,  and  Hugh,  remem 
bering  that  other  panic  and  Oliver  shaking  at  the  telephone, 
smiled. 

"It  will  be  arranged,"  the  banker  said,  looking  for  some 
papers,  "if  not  in  one  way,  then  in  another.  And  here," 
his  stout  fingers  plunged  into  the  mass  of  typewritten  papers, 
"is  the  plan  for  the  Universal  Power  Company — good  name, 
don't  you  think?" 


172  A   LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

Oliver  loved  the  poetry  of  company  names.  This  one  had 
been  considered  with  fond  care.  Something  large  and  vague, 
all-embracing  like  the  charter,  yet  fascinating  to  the  public 
eye  and  ear,  he  had  sought  and  found. 

"Capitalized  for  two  hundred  millions,"  he  continued 
lightly,  habituated  in  his  career  of  financial  juggler  to  huge 
sums. 

"Two  hundred  millions!"  Hugh  exclaimed. 

The  banker  looked  up  in  surprise. 

"The  constituent  companies  have  eighty  millions  of  securi 
ties,  and  we  must  provide  for  the  future,  you  know  —  the  fu 
ture!"  he  repeated  softly  with  a  glow  on  his  handsome  face. 

"But  we  have  already  trebled  our  original  capital,"  Hugh 
observed.  "And  that  was  one-third  nerve  and  a  third  hope! " 
the  younger  man  laughed.  "Aren't  you  going  rather  strong? " 

"When  the  Rainbow  Lake  auxiliary  is  turned  on,"  suggested 
the  banker,  drawing  a  table  of  earnings  toward  him,  "at 
so  much  per  horse  power,  your  company  should  make  —  " 
and  he  began  to  figure  lightly  with  a  pencil. 

"Our  rates  are  very  high.  They  are  asking  for  cheaper 
power.  I  have  promised  to  reduce  the  rate  when  the  new 
station  is  turned  on." 

"Why?"  asked  the  banker,  coldly.  "Senator  Dexter  takes 
all  the  extra  power  for  the  Tomahawk  mines,  doesn't  he? 
And  Ravi  has  promised  a  contract  for  the  railroad." 

"At  those  figures  he  would  be  robbing  his  stockholders." 

"They  will  take  care  of  that,  I've  no  doubt." 

In  the  familiar  phrase  of  the  market  they  would  find  the 
way  to  "pass  on"  the  charge  to  others;  Hugh  listened  in 
silence,  for  in  truth  he  was  somewhat  bewildered.  The 
years  he  had  spent  in  activity  far  from  the  atmosphere  of 
finance,  he  had  lost  the  City  point  of  view.  The  banker, 
laying  aside  his  pencil  and  paper,  said  briskly:  — 

"I  assure  you  that  all  these  details  have  been  very  carefully 


THE   STEPS   OF  POWER  173 

worked  out  by  the  engineers,  and  the  underwriters  have  agreed 
to  the  capitalization,  and  all  else.  Would  you  like  to  see  the 
list  of  our  underwriters?" 

Hugh  read  the  list,  —  all  golden  names  of  finance,  strong 
" interests,"  bankers  and  capitalists.  They  had  faith  in  that 
" future"  so  confidently  mentioned  by  Whiting,  and  they 
would  undertake  to  peddle  out  to  the  public  the  millions 
of  paper  shares  of  the  new  company.  As  he  read  he  per 
formed  the  simple  sum  that  multiplied  his  own  modest 
interest  in  the  venture  to  terms  of  wealth. 

The  banker  smiled  benevolently  on  him  with  the  air  of  say 
ing,  "We  are  all  good  fellows  together,  and  this  is  a  happy 
world  of  opportunity,  for  those  who  know  how  to  take  it!" 

Alexander  Arnold's  name  was  not  among  the  "under 
writers,"  nor  yet  on  the  list  of  directors  of  the  Universal 
Power  which  the  banker  next  produced.  In  this  affair  his 
name  nowhere  appeared,  and  yet  Hugh  did  not  doubt  that  his 
was  the  guiding  will,  and  Oliver  and  the  others  mere 
fingers  of  the  master  hand.  But  his  thought  went  back  to  his 
own  share  in  that  round  two  hundred  millions  of  paper  certifi 
cates,  and  his  cool  head  began  to  warm  with  the  intoxication  of 
the  game.  He  read  the  names  of  the  directors  in  the  new 
company,  all  inconspicuous,  mere  minor  officers  of  the  army 
of  finance.  The  great  ones  kept  from  sight  in  this  censori 
ous  age,  discreetly  veiling  their  obnoxious  personalities 
behind  their  lieutenants.  The  last  name  on  the  list  was  his 
own,  and  the  young  man  looked  up  with  a  flush  of  surprise. 
The  banker  beamed  benevolently  upon  him  from  twinkling 
eyes. 

"  You  will  go  on  as  our  representative,"  he  explained.  "  We 
have  been  much  pleased  at  the  grasp  you  have  shown  out  there, 
Grant.  I  may  say  that  you  have  displayed  a  really  remark 
able  power  in  the  way  you  have  made  something  out  of  the 
Rainbow  Falls  Company  —  shown  foresight  and  power. " 


174  A   LIFE  FOR  A   LIFE 

He  continued  in  the  complimentary  vein  for  some  moments, 
concluding :  — 

"  What  we  men  entrusted  with  large  enterprises  are  always 
looking  for  are  abilities  like  yours.  And  when  we  find  them, 
we  reward  them. "  He  nodded  his  head  significantly.  And 
he  hinted  at  further  advancement,  a  vice-presidency,  ultimately 
the  presidency,  in  certain  contingencies,  of  the  great  power 
company. 

"We  believe  in  you!"  the  banker  pronounced  emphatically. 
And  Hugh  Grant,  listening  to  the  honeyed  words  of  commenda 
tion,  heard  as  in  a  dream  the  bitter  laugh  of  the  bearded  Anarch, 
"They  have  corrupted  you!  They  are  buying  your  little 
God-given  talent,  and  they  will  make  you  work  for  them, 
to  breed  their  gold !  You  will  help  them  take  toll  of  the  future ! 
Ay,  with  your  hands  the  chains  will  be  laid  upon  us  all." 
But  the  good  Gossom,  "Another  example  of  the  virtue  of 
Success  —  I  may  say  that  I  too  have  been  a  force  in  that  young 
man's  career."  To  which  Nathaniel  doubtless  would  sub 
scribe,  adding,  "Knowledge  is  power;  character  is  oppor 
tunity  well  grasped;  an  industrial  organizer  is  a  public  bene 
factor." 

Behind  all  was  the  grim  face  of  that  old,  white-haired 
man  who  said  nothing  —  the  law  of  life  itself! 

But  the  man,  thinking  swiftly  of  the  meaning  of  it  all,  saw  a 
woman  with  gold  hair,  and  her  arm  was  tight  about  his  throat. 
He  had  sped  to  her  as  the  winged  arrow  speeds  upwards. 
Daughter  of  Power!  He  —  the  foundling  —  was  drawing 
near  her  glittering  realm!  .  .  . 

"This  was  why  I  sent  for  you,"  the  banker  said,  with  a 
winning  smile.  "You  need  have  no  fears  —  the  men  who  are 
behind  this  power  company  are  the  kind  who  put  things 
through !  There  have  been  obstacles  like  this  suit  —  there 
is  always  opposition  —  but  in  one  way  if  not  in  another  these 
men  get  their  ends. " 


THE   STEPS   OF   POWER  175 

The  affable  tone  had  dropped  from  the  banker's  rich  voice, 
and  the  rosy  smile  from  his  face ;  the  claw  of  the  beast 
ready  to  strike  could  be  seen. 

"And  now/'  he  said,  resuming  his  cordial  amiability, 
"  we'll  go  to  the  club  for  luncheon.  I've  asked  some  of  those 
concerned  to  meet  you  —  Talbot  will  be  there." 

Oliver  Whiting  touched  the  bell  to  summon  his  secretary, 
having  disposed  of  this  little  matter  in  the  morning's  routine, 
and  the  clever  juggler  of  values  became  the  simple  amiable 
host,  benevolent  and  patronizing  to  the  younger  man,  who 
had  grown  up,  so  to  speak,  in  his  own  house.  The  two  passed 
out  of  the  busy  bank  and  entered  the  bright  rooms  of  the 
luncheon  club,  a  twenty  stories  above  the  roaring  city  streets. 
It  was  a  cheerful  place,  this  club  at  the  top  of  the  cliff,  where 
men  came  less  for  the  good  food  skilfully  served  than  to  discuss 
their  affairs  in  quiet  and  comparative  seclusion.  It  was  a 
famous  hatchery  of  schemes  and  promotions,  of  speculation 
and  all  the  bloodless  skirmish  in  the  warfare  of  dollars.  Hither 
came  the  Predatory  Males,  ruddy-faced,  powerful  men,  well- 
dressed,  keen  of  mind  and  firm  of  hand.  Hugh  and  the 
banker  presently  joined  a  group  of  these  seated  about  a  round 
table  near  the  window.  Through  the  steam  wreaths  outside 
the  window  could  be  seen,  far,  far  down  on  the  earth,  that  hole 
where  the  workers  were  building  the  foundations  for  Oliver's 
monument.  And  northward  among  the  tumbled  roofs  might 
be  seen  the  giant  letters  of  the  Symbol. 

The  keen-eyed  men  around  the  table  ate  their  food  and  dis 
cussed  their  affair  in  short,  sharp  phrases.  All  the  intricate 
labor  of  this  modern  creation  had  already  been  done  in 
quiet  conferences  at  clubs,  in  silent  offices,  and  now  the  Event 
was  waited,  the  fit  moment  for  public  announcement.  But 
the  state  of  the  nation  was  disturbing.  "The  Madman  at 
Washington  —  the  Tariff  —  Unrest,"  —  such  were  the  topics 
in  their  mouths.  For  they  feared,  it  was  easy  to  be  seen, — 


176  A   LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

feared  a  thousand  things,  and  especially  "the  prejudice  of 
the  public  —  hostile  legislation." 

But  that  gray  fox  Thomas  Talbot,  plumper  and  grayer  than 
ever,  assured  them  all  would  be  well. 

"They  will  do  nothing  at  Washington." 

"  Mere  popular  clamor/'  thought  the  banker,  who  had  grown 
accustomed  to  the  growl  of  the  public. 

So  they  fell  to  discussing  again  the  terms  of  the  juggle,  — 
this  company  so  much,  that  one  so  much  —  the  game  of  cards. 
And  Hugh  Grant  listening  intently  to  these  experienced  players 
saw  in  complete  outline  the  creation  of  the  project.  "The 
Ozark  Heat  and  Light  Company,  Little  Falls  Power,  Shenan- 
doga  Electric,  Alabama  Light  and  Power,"  etc.,  etc. 
What  a  fantastic  conglomeration  of  innocent  names!  Yet 
all  with  a  sinister  meaning.  In  the  busy  years  that  had 
just  passed,  these  Deeds  had  been  done  separately,  here 
and  there,  apparently  by  chance  in  this  state  and  that, 
wherever  God  made  the  opportunity,  scattered  at  random 
throughout  the  great  country.  And  now  the  hidden  hand 
of  control  was  gathering  in  the  threads  to  weave  the  big 
cable.  When  it  was  done  —  when  the  Universal  Power 
Company  was  a  Deed — then  it  would  be  sold  at  a  good  price 
to  the  ignorant  public,  and  the  common  man  might  have  the 
privilege  of  owning  a  little  piece  of  his  own  chains.  The 
old,  old  game!  But  magnificently  staged. 

When  Hugh  Grant,  realizing  what  the  common  citizen  of 
Tomahawk  thought  of  the  manner  in  which  God's  gifts  were 
being  appropriated,  ventured  to  express  another  doubt  of 
earning  powers,  once  more  was  heard  the  magic  word :  — 

"The  future!" 

Ah,  yes  —  the  future.     But  whose  future? 

So  these  men,  having  moderately  drunk  and  eaten,  with  a 
fervid  belief  in  their  country  and  the  promise  of  its  future, 
finally  dispersed.  Talbot  lingered  with  the  banker  to  discuss 


THE  STEPS   OF  POWER  177 

a  charity  of  which  Oliver  Whiting  was  the  president,  —  the 
Home  for  the  Crippled  Blind.  For  Oliver  was  already  famous 
in  the  city  for  his  philanthropies.  No  important  board  of  any 
organization  to  further  Good  Deeds  was  complete  without  his 
name,  and  half  the  endowments  for  charity  were  banked  at  the 
Republic.  Oliver  had  the  pride  in  this  special  form  of  fame 
that  Alexander  Arnold  was  reputed  to  take  in  his  collection  of 
coins  and  bronzes  and  ivories.  Part  of  the  harvest  to  be 
gathered  out  of  that  promising  future  would  be  given  the  Home 
for  the  Crippled  Blind,  and  other  Good  Deeds  —  peace-offer 
ings  to  the  God  of  Chance.  .  .  . 

"Glad  to  see  you,  Hugh! "  Percy  Todd  was  shaking  him  en 
thusiastically  by  the  hand.  "Saw  you  over  here — great 
things  doing,  I  hear,  eh?  Power?  "  His  smiling  face  had  a  sly 
look  about  his  eyes,  as  if  like  a  hungry  robin  he  was  waiting 
for  a  j  uicy  hint.  ' '  The  public  is  tremendously  interested  in  all 
this.  Couldn't  you  give  us  some  articles  for  Ambition? 
Descriptive  and  all  that  —  think  it  over!" 

Hugh  laughed,  realizing  the  horror  this  proposal  would 
arouse  in  the  banker  and  the  lawyer,  now  in  close  conference 
beside  him. 

"Power,  now,"  persisted  the  editor,  with  his  trained 
scent  for  material,  "why,  the  title  alone  is  good!  .  .  . 
I'm  going  to  Washington,  —  article  on  l  How  the  Tariff  is 
Made,'  you  know.  .  .  .  Think  of  that  power  idea,  will  you?" 
And  the  editor  of  this  young  man's  popular  weekly, 
Ambition,  bustled  away,  hurrying  doubtless  to  some  broker 
where  he  might  place  his  order  for  so  many  shares 
of  "Power,  when  and  if  issued!" 

Hugh  was  thinking.  The  clouds  had  been  harnessed,  the 
golden  flood  was  flowing,  —  his  task  performed,  a  man's  task ! 
If  the  Todds  and  Whitings  and  Arnolds  must  play  their  game,  — 
gamble  with  the  future,  —  why  not  in  Power  as  well  as  in 
Wheat  or  Coal  or  Oil  or  Transportation? 


178  A   LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

He  was  roused  from  his  meditation  by  the  lawyer  Talbot, 
who  laid  a  fatherly  hand  upon  Hugh's  shoulder  and  mur 
mured  an  invitation  in  his  ear. 

"  We  can  discuss  the  Rainbow  Falls  matter/'  he  said,  alluding 
to  the  celebrated  case.  "I'd  like  to  have  you  hear  my  argu 
ment  before  the  Supreme  Court,  if  you  can  arrange  to  be  in 
Washington  next  month. " 

And  the  banker,  after  the  lawyer  had  departed,  broached 
another  bright  topic,  as  they  wended  their  way  back  to  the 
Bank  :  - 

"This  underwriting  will  be  a  good  thing —  what  shall  I  put 
you  down  for?" 

Surely  when  Oliver  Whiting  and  his  friends  "believed  in  a 
man,"  his  path  was  paved  with  golden  opportunities! 

At  the  close  of  the  day  Hugh  Grant  wended  his  way  through 
the  City  streets,  now  teeming  with  the  thousands  pouring 
forth  from  the  high  buildings  where  they  had  labored.  His 
brain  was  weary  with  the  glitter  of  Opportunity,  visions  of 
Aladdin's  lamp  deftly  rubbed  under  Oliver's  skilled  fingers; 
and  yet  beneath  all  in  him  —  beneath  triumph  and  stimulated 
egotism — lay  an  uneasy  thought.  Distaste  of  the  City  ways? 
He  had  lived  good  years  in  the  wind-swept  places  beneath  the 
mountains,  where  men  were  men,  not  jugglers  of  paper  sym 
bols.  They  built  their  lives  out  of  the  ground,  not  in  dizzy 
Babel  towers  of  cards.  There  came  bi^k  to  his  crowded  mind 
that  common  citizen  of  Tomahawk, —  Tom  O'Brien,  forsooth, 
—  in  whose  humble  home  he  had  eaten  many  a  meal,  and 
Tom  said  to  him :  — 

"Where  am  I  in  that  wonderful  future  you  and  your 
companions  have  been  portioning  among  yourselves  ? " 

Where,  indeed! 

Hugh  entered  the  vast  hotel,  glittering  with  light,  gold 
and  bronze  and  marble,  tapestried  walls  and  velvet  curtains, 


THE   STEPS  OF  POWER  179 

where  those  who  made  money  in  the  City  lived  and  played. 
Excellent  music  floated  in  the  air,  and  the  gay  laughter  of 
men  and  women.  ...  He  was  climbing  the  bright  steps 
of  power,  and  far  off  at  the  apex  stood  a  smiling  figure  in 
white  and  gold  —  a  woman  who  loved  Power. 


XVII 

THE  PROPHET  AND  HIS  BEARD 

ALEXANDRA  was  not  far  away.  In  that  vast  hotel,  in  a 
corner  of  the  celebrated  tea-room,  amid  the  tinkle  of  music 
and  the  tinkle  of  silver  and  glass  she  was  to  be  found  with 
her  brother  Morris.  He  —  strange  creature  —  had  just  re 
turned  from  the  antipodes  with  a  tunic,  a  pair  of  sandals, 
and  a  Malay  servant.  His  silky  hair  fell  to  the  shoulders 
of  his  purple  tunic,  and  his  long,  hairy  legs  were  twisted 
under  a  little  gilt  chair.  Conny,  the  broker's  wife,  leaned 
upon  her  fair  arm  and  devoured  him  with  worshipping  eyes. 
She  divined  a  coming  sensation  of  the  season.  Another 
lady,  little  Signora  Fontana  of  the  Lyric,  also  beamed  upon 
him  with  flashing  eyes.  Morris,  in  the  circle  of  adoration, 
stroked  his  beard,  —  a  wonderful  beard,  long  and  golden 
and  finely  curling  at  the  ends. 

"He  is  so  quaint,  your  brother!"  murmured  the  little 
Signora  to  Alexandra.  "He  is  like  an  ancient  Prophet!" 

"Prophet!"  echoed  Conny. 

And  Michael  Peter,  one  of  those  Predatory  Males  from 
the  lower  City,  who  at  this  hour  of  the  day  drift  upstream 
to  club  and  hotel,  chuckled  with  inner  satisfaction. 

"The  Prophet  and  his  beard  —  good!  What  did  father 
say  when  he  saw  the  Prophet  and  his  beard?" 

The  Prophet's  sister  laughed;  for  all  that  old  Alexander  had 
said  was,  "Don't  let  him  cut  it  before  the  snow  goes." 

Curious  eyes  studied  the  bizarre  figure  at  the  tea-table 
beside  the  fronded  palms.  May  Todd,  sipping  refreshment 
in  this  fashionable  resort  in  company  with  the  young  man 

180 


THE  PROPHET  AND  HIS  BEARD     181 

who  had  become  her  career,  whispered,  "He  must  be  an 
Indian  prince!  He's  with  Miss  Arnold,  —  the  blond 
one."  .  .  . 

The  broker's  wife  pressed  refreshment  upon  the  Prophet, 
but  he  rejected  it. 

"He  never  eats  but  once  a  day/'  his  sister  explained, 
"and  then  only  curds  and  whey." 

"Mi-l-k,"  groaned  the  little  lady  from  the  Lyric.  "And 
is  that  for  inspiration?  If  one  is  a  prophet,  must  one  eat  so? 
Ah,  no!"  She  shook  her  head. 

But  Conny,  who  felt  a  coming  access  of  devotion  since  the 
advent  of  Morris  and  his  purple  tunic,  sighed,  "It  must  give 
pure  thoughts." 

"And  he  is  going  to  live  in  a  cave!"  Alexandra  explained. 
"It's  on  the  hill  behind  the  house  in  Paradise  Valley.  He 
can't  sleep  under  a  roof." 

"In  a  cave!"  There  was  exclamation.  "You  will  take 
us  to  see  him  there?"  Morris  moved  restlessly  at  the  pros 
pect  of  the  pilgrimage. 

"Prophet,"  said  the  irrepressible  Signora,  "you  will  come 
to  hear  me,  will  you  not?  I  will  make  you  have  inspira 
tion,  —  dream  the  dream  of  your  life." 

"I  never  go  to  the  theatre,"  the  Prophet  replied,  winking 
uncomfortably  behind  his  gold  spectacles. 

"Then  I  must  go  up  to  the  cave  and  sing  to  you  there!" 

And  just  here  came  Hugh  Grant,  stalking  blindly  through 
the  pretty  pageant  of  the  hotel  room,  —  the  music  tinkling 
emptily  in  his  ears,  the  laughter  and  the  chatter  unheeded, 
the  women's  faces  and  the  attitudes  of  the  Predatory  Males 
unseen.  For  his  eyes  were  —  upon  the  mountains  above 
Tomahawk! 

"Still  among  the  clouds?"  The  low,  laughing  voice  crossed 
his  dreams,  and  the  tense  eyes  of  the  man  rested  upon  the 


182  A  LIFE  FOR  A   LIFE 

woman  of  his  vision.  He  had  seen  her  framed  in  the  snows 
that  lie  about  lofty  mountain  peaks;  he  had  dreamed'  of 
her  in  Rome  and  Paris  and  London,  in  India  and  Japan  — 
where  not?  Sipping  the  delights  and  the  varieties  of  life  wher 
ever.  He  saw  her  standing  before  him  against  bright  tap 
estry,  tinkle  of  music  and  voices  in  his  ears,  and  after  the 
fashion  of  the  hour  she  was  dressed  in  snaky,  sinuous  folds,  — 
a  lily  face  at  the  tip  of  a  long  stalk. 

So  he  was  seated  among  them,  near  the  Prophet,  and  the 
ripple  of  light  talk  moved  on  about  him,  —  amusement  and 
extravagance,  the  twitter  of  petty  interests.  Alexandra, 
pleased  with  the  accidental,  always  expectant  of  the  un 
expected,  savoring  the  double  flavor  of  odd  associations, 
glanced  from  the  purple  Prophet  with  the  long  beard  to  this 
hardy  son  of  the  times,  —  fresh  from  breaking  earth  at  the 
frontier,  and  she  said :  — 

"Have  you  harnessed  the  snows?" 

"Yes,"  he  replied  with  a  sombre  gravity  that  went  ill 
with  the  scene.  "They  are  ready  now  to  yield  gold." 

The  sparkling  jewels  on  the  breasts  of  the  mountains  after 
diverse  transmutation  would  sparkle  once  again  —  and 
here,  in  this  little  corner  of  the  rich  garden  of  power.  He 
read  upon  the  woman's  lively  face  the  thronged  experience 
through  which  she  had  passed  since  they  had  stood  alone 
upon  the  wind-swept  scarp  of  the  lofty  mountains.  And  she 
seemed  vastly  separated  from  him  —  here. 

In  his  fixed  eyes  she  saw  that  which  stirred  and  troubled 
her  —  power.  The  music  played  softly,  covering  the  voices, 
provoking  smiles  and  glances  between  men  and  women, 
the  pleasant  play  of  sex.  These  two  looked.  At  last  the 
little  company  moved  on  to  other  scenes.  Alexandra  said 
invitingly :  — 

"We  have  hills  and  snows  at  Paradise  Valley.  Come  and 
see  where  brother  Morris  is  to  perch,  —  in  a  cave!" 


THE  PROPHET  AND  HIS  BEARD     183 

"Ah,  the  cold!"  shivered  the  little  Signora,  temperamen 
tally.  "Can  one  pray  in  the  cold?" 

"I  do  not  pray,"  said  the  Prophet. 

They  bundled  the  Prophet  into  the  waiting  car,  carefully 
wrapping  his  hairy  legs  in  a  bearskin,  and  sped  away  in  the 
twinkling  night,  —  not  before  Alexandra  had  said  again, 
"You  will  come!" 

For  she  knew  that  a  man  had  entered  her  life. 

The  Prophet  appeared  that  night  at  his  father's  house  in  a 
white  tunic  with  yellow  sandals.  He  ate  rice  upon  a  gold  plate, 
and  said  nothing.  He  made  a  sensation  among  Alexandra's 
guests,  whose  jaded  taste  welcomed  the  eccentric.  "Behold  the 
Prophet!"  Conny  Rickers  had  called,  as  he  descended  the 
stairs,  and  established  herself  near  him,  with  fond  eyes.  To 
the  women  who  called  him  "ravishing,"  Conny  explained 
her  sensations,  "You  feel  as  if  you  were  breathing  another 
air  —  something  pure  and  removed  —  very  far  away !  He 
is  like  a  man  of  God  who  has  come  to  us  from  the  far  East 
to  confess  our  sins,  you  know." 

It  was  said  that  the  lovely  Conny  had  sins  to  confess, 
and  the  women  shivered  with  mystery  and  longing.  "Do 
you  feel  that  way?"  they  said.  Nevertheless,  when  after 
pensive  searchings  of  the  spirit  she  requested  guidance  of 
the  Prophet,  he  stroked  his  beard,  saying  in  his  thin,  little 
voice,  "Eat  less."  (For  a  time  thereafter  the  broker's  wife 
served  her  intimates  a  drink  made  from  sour  milk  with  thin 
wafers  of  unleavened  bread,  and  averred  that  was  her  sole 
diet.) 

Alexander  Arnold  watched  his  son  from  keen  eyes,  with 
out  remark,  save  when  he  asked  Alexandra:  — 

"Can't  you  put  him  into  pants?" 

And  when  the  Prophet  betook  himself  to  the  snowy  hill 
sides  of  Paradise  Valley,  the  old  man  grunted,  "Good 


184  A  LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

idea  —  some  woman  might  get  hold  of  him  —  he  can't  get 
into  trouble  there!" 

"Father,"  protested  the  daughter,  "you  don't  understand 
Morris.  He  will  have  a  wonderful  life  up  there  in  his  cave, 
undisturbed,  thinking  his  thoughts." 

"What  thoughts?" 

"At  least  he  does  what  you  do  —  he  leads  his  own  life!" 

The  hoary  old  individualist  snorted :  — 

"Life!  Do  you  call  that  life?  .  .  .  What's  behind  the 
beard?  That's  what  I'd  like  to  know!" 

So  for  some  weeks,  the  cave  of  the  PA  jphet  became  the  end 
of  fashionable  pilgrimage,  and  the  Prophet  with  his  beard 
had  a  celebrity  that  reached  even  to  the  dim  canons  of  the 
City,  where  Predatory  Males  told  one  another  the  tale  of 
Arnold's  son,  and  laughed  at  the  trick  of  fate  which  had  given 
such  a  father  two  such  sons. 


XVIII 

IN  THE   STILL  DECEMBER  FOREST 

HE  came  upon  her  at  the  turn  of  the  road  where  the  shad 
ows  of  old  oaks  lay  upon  the  white  ground,  and  the  brown 
leaves  still  fluttered  aloft  in  the  cold  wind.  This,  at  last,  was 
the  face  he  had  live'tJ  with,  this  wave  of  golden  hair,  this 
curve  of  neck  and  lips,  these  gray  eyes,  —  he  had  borne  her 
in  his  arms!  .  .  .  She  met  him  with  radiant  welcome,  joy 
ously,  as  though  for  him  —  here  in  the  still  December  forest 
—  she  would  slough  those  experiencing  years  that  had  inter 
vened  between  them.  Once  again  they  were  in  the  valley 
of  the  Seven  Peaks.  Yet  as  he  had  become  man,  so  had 
she  ripened  to  full  woman,  conscious  of  the  coming  crest  of 
life,  the  lift  of  the  wave  beneath  her  feet.  Therefore  she 
was  grave,  yet  smiling  before  his  eager  eyes,  and  whatever 
of  reserve  she  had  meditated  melted  in  that  transforming  glow 
of  worship  and  desire  which  he  brought  her.  Already  many 
times  she  had  met  ardent  and  expectant  eyes  of  men  desir 
ing  her,  turned  them  lightly,  poised  in  her  own  will;  but  this 
one  loved  sternly.  .  .  .  She  dallied  with  those  memories 
sweet  to  him. 

Did  he  remember  the  chain  of  jewels,  —  onyx,  amethyst, 
and  turquoise,  set  against  the  mountain  side?  And  had  he 
with  a  vandal  hand  harnessed  them,  too  —  her  lakes?  "I've 
seen  them  so  often  —  and  that  storm  in  the  valley."  — 
No,  he  said,  they  were  untouched,  still  gleaming,  circled  by 
the  Seven  Peaks,  and  with  quiet  affirmation:  — 

"Some  day  we  shall  see  them  again!" 

185 


186  A   LIFE  FOR  A   LIFE 

We!  Her  cheek  flushed  at  the  audacity  of  calm  claim, 
and,  peeping  out  of  her  gray  eyes  at  this  man  who  assumed 
mastery,  she  veered  once  more. 

"For  the  present,  having  no  precipices,  no  avalanches,  no 
unexplored  Valley  of  Seven  Peaks,  we  shall  have  to  content 
ourselves  with  this!" 

The  forest  reached  before  them,  all  still  and  white  between 
the  straight  trees,  swelling  gently  upwards  under  its  mantle 
of  snow. 

"And  we'll  climb  to  Morris's  cave  and  have  luncheon  with 
him  and  the  Signora  Fontana.  A  surprise  for  our  Prophet! 
You  will  see  how  comfortable  I  have  made  him." 

She  pointed  out  the  spot  on  the  distant  hillside  where  in  a 
cleft  of  the  limestone  rock,  old  playground  of  her  childhood, 
the  bearded  Prophet  was  now  installed  with  his  foreign  ser 
vant. 

They  sauntered  leisurely  by  a  devious  route  through  the 
feathery  snow,  crossing  open  glades  where  the  brook  lay 
deceitfully  hidden  and  the  alders,  tufted  white,  glittered  in 
the  sun,  then  striking  again  into  the  dark  wood,  where  it 
was  silent  and  the  wind  brushed  the  upper  branches. 

In  the  silence  of  the  forest  Alexandra,  daughter  of  Alexander, 
returned  to  the  woman  primitive,  as  she  had  once  before  in  the 
mountains,  as  this  man  seemed  to  compel  her,  being  ignorant 
of  all  the  rest  within  her.  She  drew  from  him  the  story  of 
his  deeds,  even  to  the  steps  of  power  whereon  he  stood,  and  she 
smiled  at  the  evidence  of  success,  approvingly.  Thus  men 
did,  in  the  world  that  she  knew.  He  was  young,  with  sinews, 
and  her  instinct  for  power  told  her  that  he  would  reach  distant 
goals.  .  .  . 

They  rested  snugly  under  a  fir,  rimmed  by  drifted  snow. 
To  his  desire  to  know  of  her  various  living,  she  answered 
vaguely,  "Oh,  places  —  people!"  thus  gently  marking  the 
line  of  their  intimacy.  The  mountains  and  the  still  forest, 


IN  THE  STILL  DECEMBER  FOREST          187 

she  would  share  with  him;  not  the  life  that  touched  the 
world.  On  these  terms  she  would  bare  herself  to  him  as 
to  no  other,  giving  abundantly  of  what  no  other  knew  to 
be  within  her  soul. 

"Tell  me  rather,"  she  resumed,  "of  that  pretty  girl  —  the 
one  at  the  game  long  ago,  you  remember?" 

"May?"  he  asked  wonderingly. 

"Yes,  May  —  your  cousin,  was  she  not?     Where  is  she?" 

"In  the  City,  I  suppose  —  I  have  scarcely  seen  her  since 
that  day  at  the  game." 

"But  there  was  something  between  you,  then?" 

"I  had  kissed  her  that  morning." 

"I  knew  it!  ...  And  you  did  not  go  to  her  when  she 
wanted  you?" 

"No." 

"Why  not?" 

"Because  it  was  not  love." 

The  woman's  face  grew  rose,  and  she  smiled. 

"You  kissed  her!" 

"Yes  —  but  that  was  not  love." 

The  smile  faded.  She  understood  the  unsaid:  love  lifted 
the  woman  loved  beyond  the  creature  of  sex  into  a  new  realm 
of  wonder  and  worship  and  joy.  The  girl  kissed  had  remained 
woman,  the  creature  of  sex. 

"But  the  girl  loved  you,"  she  said  softly.     "I  knew  it  then." 

"I  did  not  love  her"  he  said. 

The  glance  from  his  grave  eyes  met  hers,  and  she  read, 
"I  have  waited  for  you!"  Wonder  of  life,  —  a  predatory, 
gregarious  male  who  waited  for  the  one  who  should  be  more 
than  woman!  Her  breath  came  unevenly,  and  she  was  giddy 
with  the  dangerous  play. 

"She  loved  you!"  she  insisted  softly.     "And  you  left  her!" 

"She  is  marrying,  I  hear.  ...  I  said  she  was  a  cousin. 
But  only  in  name.  For  I  have  no  relatives.  I  am  a  foundling." 


188  A   LIFE  FOR  A   LIFE 

"A  foundling!"  The  note  of  wonder  was  also  cold,  as  if 
this  word  had  rudely  torn  the  veil  of  illusion. 

"An  old  man  named  Grant  found  me  one  morning  in  his 
barn  and  took  me." 

"And  you  have  never  known  your  own  people?" 

"Never." 

She  looked  away  beneath  the  dark  branches  to  the  distant 
hillside,  her  gray  eyes  swiftly  speculating.  Now  she  was  once 
more  the  woman  of  that  large  world  in  which  men  and  women 
were  placed  in  set  rank  and  did  not  stand  alone,  where  pride 
is  born  of  place,  and  the  stranger  must  be  doubly  proved. 
Then  slowly  the  gray  eyes  softened,  and  yielding  once  more 
to  the  mood  of  their  intimacy,  she  turned  a  gentle  glance  to 
him,  saying :  — 

"It  must  be  strange,  never  to  know  whence  one  comes,  — 
to  be  alone  from  the  beginning." 

"The  old  man  was  good  and  kind,  and  what  he  had  was 
mine  as  if  I  had  been  his  flesh.  Nevertheless,  it  is  strange 
and  wrong,  to  be  born  without  ties,  —  it  is  one  of  the  things 
that  can  never  be  changed." 

"Other  ties  come — " 

They  were  silent.  Then,  as  if  a  concealed  door  had  been 
opened,  Alexandra  continued,  in  musing  tones :  — 

"I  hardly  knew  my  mother.  .  .  .  She  must  have  been 
a  wonderful  woman,  all  sweetness  and  love!  .  .  .  She  is 
living  —  in  confinement." 

"Living—" 

"But  no  one  knows." 

She  spoke  as  to  herself  in  the  silence  of  the  snowy  forest. 
"I  go  to  see  her  sometimes  —  in  that  South  where  she  was 
born.  It  isn't  sad.  For  she  seems  to  have  gone  back 
behind  this  life,  to  live  in  some  other  world  of  her  own, 
with  strange  thoughts  and  loves,  —  oh,  a  beautiful  world! 
The  sort  of  world  there  might  once  have  been  for  her 


IN  THE   STILL  DECEMBER  FOREST          189 

here.  .  .  .  You  see,  they  were  not  happy,  my  father  and 
my  mother.  He  was  steel,  and  she  was  —  like  the  scattered 
flowers  upon  the  earth.  One  day  she  wandered  away,  and 
when  she  came  back  to  us  she  had  forgotten.  That  was  the 
beginning.  It  was  best  so.  Then  I  was  miserable.  But 
as  I  have  become  woman,  I  understand.  My  father's  world 
was  not  hers.  .  .  .  And  we  three  children  have  all  some 
thing  of  her  in  us  —  I,  least.  My  older  brother  was  wild 
and  wilful,  but  he  was  generous.  Hate  came  between  him 
and  his  father,  and  he  went  away  —  I  do  not  know  where. 
And  Morris  —  our  poor  Prophet  —  my  father  cannot  un 
derstand  him  in  the  least!  He  has  wandered  about  in  an 
aimless,  foolish  fashion,  from  place  to  place,  as  if  he  were 
hunting  for  something.  Now  he  has  come  back,  in  this 
ridiculous  manner.  He  is  still  hunting,  in  his  queer  way,  for 
something  —  for  peace,  perhaps.  And  father  cannot  under 
stand  —  thinks  him  weak-minded.  But  it  is  harmless  to  live 
in  a  cave  on  the  hillside  through  the  winter,  eat  curds  and 
whey,  and  go  bare-legged.  If  that  brings  peace ! "  she  laughed. 
•  l '  Now  we  must  go  find  him — the  Fontana  will  be  there  before 
us."  Yet  she  lingered,  saying  moodily,  "So  I  am  the  only 
one  left  my  father  —  a  woman  to  inherit  a  man's  world!" 

"You  are  also  your  mother's  child,"  he  said. 

"No!"  she  protested.  "I  am  more  like  him  than  his  sons. 
I  find  this  world  as  it  is  very  good.  I  am  my  father's  child; 
I  too  love  life  and  power!" 

She  threw  him  a  mutinous  look,  as  if  thus  she  told  him  she 
could  escape  from  his  spell  at  will,  and  rising  she  parted  the 
snow-laden  boughs  of  the  fir-tree  beneath  which  they  had 
rested. 

"It  must  be  nearly  noon  —  we  should  hurry!" 

Across  the  warm  mood  of  their  intimacy  there  had  come 
an  impalpable  coldness,  marking  as  it  were  some  unseen  and 
profound  rift  between  their  natures,  which  she  mutely  chal- 


190  A  LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

lenged  the  man  to  surmount  if  he  could.  Alexandra  led  the 
way,  now,  threading  the  snow-covered  thickets  with  tall  grace, 
singing  a  light  song  to  herself.  Like  the  grudging  December 
sunshine,  she  had  warmed  him  only  to  withdraw.  .  .  .  The 
path  now  led  by  the  shore  of  the  fish-pond,  whose  edges  were 
black  where  the  snow  touched  the  flowing  water.  At  the 
weir  Alexandra  paused  to  look  at  the  trout  fry  squirming  in 
the  clear  cold  water,  and,  plunging  a  hand  into  the  icy  stream, 
she  plucked  forth  some  of  the  tiny  fish. 

"Beauties,  are  they  not?"  She  held  them  up  to  show  their 
spotted  sides.  "They  have  to  be  careful  to  separate  the  small 
ones  from  the  bigger  fellows.  Little  cannibals!  They  eat  one 
another." 

She  dropped  the  silvery  mites  into  the  weir,  and  together 
they  watched  the  squirming  trout  beneath  the  clear  water. 

"They  eat  their  own  kind?" 

"Yes  —  their  brothers  and  sisters.  The  big  eat  the 
little." 

"Like  men,"  he  said,  thinking  of  the  canons  of  the  City 
through  which  lay  the  steps  of  power. 

"Like  men!"  she  repeated,  a  little  smile  on  her  lips,  her 
gray  eyes  contracting.  "And  why  not?" 

"The  strong  survive." 

"The  strong  are  beautiful  and  powerful  —  they  are  able 
to  do  deeds.  ...  I  am  glad  that  the  strong  survive. 
'Twould  be  a  dreary  world  if  the  strong  did  not  survive!" 

Thus  she  challenged  him,  —  daughter  of  the  race  of  the 
strong!  Who  would  seek  her  must  follow  fast  and  do  the  deeds 
of  power  that  the  strong  admire.  And  he,  with  his  larger 
knowledge  of  the  world  of  men  and  their  ways  with  one  an 
other,  said:  — 

"The   strong,— the  brutal   and  the   lustful!" 

She  dipped  from  the  weir  another  handful  of  the  fish. 

"The  beautiful!  the  fit!"  she  mocked.     "See!"  she  held 


IN  THE   STILL  DECEMBER  FOREST        191 

forth  a  fish  with  gold  marking.  "He  is  worth  a  dozen  of  the 
common  sort." 

"Even  when  he  eats  his  kind?" 

"If  need  be!" 

"A  life  for  a  life,  then." 

The  words  sounded  fatefully  between  them,  marking  a 
division  of  spirit.  The  woman  shivered  and  let  the  fish  slip 
back  into  the  water. 

"A  life  for  a  life  — if  need  be." 

In  the  clear  brilliance  of  her  gray  eyes,  the  upward  thrust 
of  her  head  and  firm  lips,  he  might  see  the  woman  image  of 
old  Alexander  Arnold,  —  the  one  whose  greedy  fingers  had 
grasped  power  all  the  days  of  his  life;  the  one  who  had  eaten 
his  kind  in  the  struggle,  when  they  were  weaker.  This  was 
the  female  from  that  male,  —  pagan,  triumphing,  possessing. 
And  this  was  the  woman  he  loved.  .  .  .  Between  them  lay 
a  gulf,  —  deep,  deep ;  deeper  than  wealth  or  tradition  or  con 
vention.  Blind  to  its  depth,  they  looked  into  each  other's 
eyes,  no  longer  smiling,  troubled  by  unseen  thoughts  within 
their  words. 

He  pointed  to  the  darting  fish,  and  suddenly  unexpected 
words  came  to  him,  from  some  unknown  level  of  his  being, 
"It  is  not  so  with  men!"  and  as  she  waited,  he  explained, 
"The  best  may  be  eaten,  and  the  worst  be  the  eaters." 

Her  lips  curved  doubtfully :  — 

"Best  and  worst?  All  we  knoy/  is  that  the  strong  survive." 
She  dealt  out  with  a  superior  and  positive  air  the  wisdom 
of  Butterfield  and  Ravi.  "Tis  a  matter  of  law!  All  else  is 
sentimental  —  the  talk  of  the  weak-kneed." 

"The  law  of  nature,  the  law  of  animals,"  he  persisted.  "But 
you  and  I  are  creatures  of  a  more  complex  law." 

"What?" 

"In  us  rises  something  else — " 

"Oh,  civilization—" 


192  A   LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

"More  than  the  thin  rag  of  civilization!" 

She  challenged  him  with  level  eyes,  and  he  answered  with 
even  voice :  — 

"Love  —  not  the  love  of  animals,"  and  her  eyes  fell  before 
the  coming  words.  "Love  like  the  love  I  have  for  you!" 

It  was  said. 

Slowly  her  eyes  met  his,  still  with  challenge,  as  though 
to  say,  "  Only  the  strong  will  I  accept!"  .  .  .  She 
turned,  and  with  swift  steps  climbed  the  snowy  path.  He 
kept  pace  beside  her,  and  thus  for  a  time  breathing  quickly 
they  mounted  the  hill.  Above  their  heads  was  the  gray  rock 
in  which  lay  the  Prophet's  cave.  At  the  last  twist  of  the  path 
she  paused  and  faced  him,  with  trembling  lips :  — 

"Words  are  foolish,"  she  said. 

His  grave  eyes  met  her  evasive  glance. 

"Why  argue  about  things?"  she  plead  softly. 

A  moment  more,  and  she  might  have  rested  in  his  arms, 
yielding  to  the  spirit  she  would  deny.  Thus  the  con 
quering  male  would  have  captured  her.  She  waited  for  the 
words  of  love  that  were  unspoken.  She  could  read  them  in 
the  grave,  questioning  eyes.  .  .  . 

Her  glance  wandered  out  to  the  level  valley,  all  white  and 
sparkling,  on  to  the  farther  hills  that  bound  her  realm.  With 
a  quiver  she  sprang  forward  up  the  path  to  the  cave,  once 
more  mistress  of  her  fixed  self,  —  mistress  of  the  white  valley 
and  the  great  house  lying  in  the  sunlight  on  its  hill.  The 
spell  that  had  been  woven  in  the  still  December  forest  was 
broken,  and  when  she  spoke  again  the  tone  and  the  words 
came  from  afar  —  from  that  other  life.  The  measureless 
space  between  them  was  once  more  fixed. 

"I  hope,"  she  said,  "that  Morris  and  the  Signora  have  not 
eaten  all  the  luncheon." 


XIX 

AT  THE   CAVE   OF  THE   PROPHET 

THAT  December  morning  the  Prophet  had  sat  upon  a  thick 
rug  before  the  mouth  of  his  cave,  stroking  his  beard  and  try 
ing  to  extract  comfort  from  the  thin  rays  of  the  rising  sun. 
Winter  was  upon  him.  The  hillside  that  had  trickled  with 
little  streams  when  he  had  first  taken  his  abode  in  the  cave 
had  since  frozen  into  silence.  Of  the  birds  that  had  hopped 
inquiringly  into  his  rocky  chamber  at  dawn  only  a  twitter 
ing  sparrow  was  left,  —  a  vulgar,  drab-coated  beggar  looking 
for  food. 

So  this  morning  the  Prophet  sat  somewhat  dolefully  huddled 
upon  his  knees  before  the  mouth  of  his  cave.  The  path  from 
the  valley  worn  by  the  feet  of  the  curious  in  pilgrimage  after 
the  new,  had  been  neglected  these  ten  days,  and,  what  was 
more  immediate,  the  Malay  had  disappeared.  There  had  been 
signs  of  revolt  in  him  since  the  first  flakes  of  snow  had  flut 
tered  over  the  rock  and  the  shrewd  northwest  wind  searched 
the  corners  of  the  cave.  But  this  morning  when  the  Prophet 
awoke  and  called  to  the  Malay  to  prepare  his  bath,  which  he 
took  every  morning  at  sunrise  before  the  cave,  there  had  been 
no  soft  guttural  response.  When  finally  he  had  bestirred  him 
self  from  the  thick  rugs,  with  which  Alexandra  had  provided 
him,  there  was  no  soft-footed  Sing  to  be  found.  A  deadly 
quiet  pervaded  the  place;  it  was  apparent  that  Sing  had 
departed  with  his  master's  purse,  and  that  white  robe  em 
broidered  in  gold  by  the  hand  of  the  broker's  wife.  The 
0  193 


194  A   LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

Prophet  cared  little  for  either  robe  or  purse,  but  he  wanted 
his  bath  and  his  cup  of  goat's  milk  and  basin  of  rice. 

After  a  period  of  sulky  contemplation  in  the  wan  December 
sunshine,  he  had  been  agreeably  disturbed  by  the  tinkle  of 
the  telephone,  which  Alexandra  had  thoughtfully  provided 
for  an  emergency  like  this.  At  the  summons  from  civiliza 
tion  the  Prophet  arose  with  alacrity.  It  was  his  sister's 
voice.  Would  the  Prophet  receive  guests  ?  —  the  Fontana 
had  come  from  the  City,  specially.  With  surprising  gra- 
ciousness  the  Prophet  bade  them  welcome.  "I  say,  Alex 
andra,"  he  piped,  "you  will  have  to  send  up  some  food — Sing 
has  gone! "  And  then  he  returned  to  his  position  on  the  rug, 
and  plucked  his  beard  with  a  pleasant  sense  of  anticipation. 

Soon  his  sharp  ears  caught  the  sound  of  a  voice  below,  and 
presently  he  saw  the  slight  graceful  figure  of  the  little  Signora 
Fontana,  toiling  up  the  snowy  path,  followed  by  a  servant 
with  a  hamper.  At  the  turn  below  the  little  woman  paused, 
exhausted :  — 

"Is  it  yet  far?"  she  demanded  of  the  servant,  pantingly. 
"I  cannot  go  another  step  —  the  Prophet  must  fetch  me  up 
the  rest.  Ho,  Signor  Pro-phet!"  she  cried,  and  as  Morris 
peered  from  above  she  waved  a  white  hand.  "See  what 
we  bring  you!  A  feast!"  She  pointed  to  the  hamper.  The 
Prophet  scrambled  to  her  aid,  and  extended  a  long  arm,  with 
which  she  gained  the  level  spot  before  the  cave. 

"Ci-el!  but  it's  love-ly,"  she  panted,  in  her  soft  voice  that 
struck  pleasantly  on  the  hermit's  ears.  "You  call  it  Pa- 
ra-diso,  eh?  Surely  it  is  paradise  after  that  infernal  City. 
And  the  Prophet  lives  here  always.  I  think  he  be  lonely 
sometimes,  no?" 

Morris  hurriedly  brought  from  the  cave  another  thick  rug, 
which  he  spread  in  the  sunlight,  and  also  a  camp  chair  for  the 
Signora.  But  the  little  lady,  waving  the  seat  aside,  plumped 
herself  upon  the  rug. 


AT  THE  CAVE  OF  THE  PROPHET    195 

"Madonna  mia!  To  sit  when  a  holy  man  of  God  squats 
on  his  knees!"  She  touched  the  hem  of  the  Prophet's  tunic 
with  her  fingers.  "Is  there  haircloth  underneath  it?" 

"No!"  the  Prophet  replied,  twitching  the  garment  from 
her  curious  fingers.  The  discreet  servant,  busy  in  spread 
ing  forth  the  contents  of  the  hamper,  coughed.  The  Prophet 
said  wistfully,  —  "I  have  eaten  nothing  since  yesterday  noon." 

"Starving?  Quick!  She  took  the  neat  bundles,  from  the 
servant.  "Pate  de  fois  gras  —  sandwich!  Your  sister 
would  bring  mi-Ik  and  rice!"  The  Signora  made  a  wry  face. 
"But  I  said  if  the  Prophet  is  to  give  me  breakfast  in  his  cave 
on  the  mountain,  I  must  have  something  to  eat.  No?" 

She  deftly  unwrapped  a  pheasant  and  salad,  then  a  bunch 
of  purple  grapes,  and  laid  them  on  the  napkin.  Lastly  she 
drew  forth  a  thin-necked  bottle  of  wine,  holding  it  aloft  for 
the  Prophet's  admiration. 

"Let  us  eat,"  she  said.  "You  are  starving,  and  I  am  too. 
Your  sister  said  she  would  be  here  with  a  young  man  —  likely 
she  has  found  her  prophet  and  taken  him  to  another  cave,  eh?  " 

She  smiled  sympathetically  on  Morris,  who  watched  her 
jewelled  fingers  arrange  the  food. 

Thus  they  made  a  merry  feast  together,  before  the  mouth 
of  the  cave,  the  Fontana  insisting  that  the  Prophet  taste  every 
dainty,  feeding  him  with  her  little  fingers.  With  faint  pro 
test  the  hungry  Morris  ate  pate  de  fois  gras  and  pheasant, 
even  clinked  glasses  with  the  actress,  and  drank  a  long  draught 
of  cool  Chablis! 

"Good,  no?  you  feel  better  already  for  food  and  some 
company?  You  can  pray  better  for  it  afterwards.  .  .  .  What 
you  do  all  day?  Sit  like  that,  on  your  knees?  "  She  humped 
herself  like  a  meditative  monkey.  ' '  And  think,  think — what 
you  think  about?  How  good  you  are,  eh?"  She  refilled  the 
Prophet's  empty  glass.  "You  think  of  us  in  the  great  City  — 
us  poor;  bad  people  who  don't  sit  on  our  knees  and  live  in 


196  A   LIFE   FOR  A   LIFE 

caves?  Drink  the  wine!  It  make  you  feel  more  like  us  — 
jolly!" 

She  held  the  glass  to  the  Prophet's  bearded  lips  and  forced 
him  to  quaff  it.  Some  drops  spilled  over  and  ran  down  upon 
the  silky  beard.  "  Oh,"  she  cried,  and  with  a  napkin  carefully 
wiped  the  wine  away  from  the  beard.  "  Is  it  real,  Prophet?  " 
She  gave  it  a  little  tweak  as  a  child  might  test  the  reality  of 
her  doll's  chignon.  Grasping  it  more  firmly,  she  gave  another 
twitch,  and  as  the  Prophet  exclaimed,  "Ouch!  Don't  do 
that!"  she  nodded  her  head  gravely.  "It  is  real!" 

The  Prophet  took  refuge  within  the  cave,  but  the  Signora 
followed  him,  exclaiming  at  the  purple  rug  on  which  he  slept, 
the  silver  basin  and  ewer,  the  teakwood  stand  with  its  Indian 
lamp,  shaded  to  protect  the  Prophet's  eyes.  She  clapped  her 
hands. 

"It's  like  the  theatre!  Come  —  we  must  act, — Arsino 
and  Bellarmine.  You  are  Arsino,  and  I  am  your  Bellarmine. 
Sit  there!" 

She  took  the  tall  Morris  by  his  shoulders  and  forced  him 
to  his  knees.  "Now,  Prophet,  make  love  to  me!  Come  —  I 
show  you  how  to  make  love  to  a  woman!"  She  sat  him 
on  the  boulder,  and  took  his  place  upon  the  rug.  "I  kneel 
at  your  feet  —  so,  and  I  look  up  into  your  eyes — so!" 
The  Prophet  blushed  beneath  his  beard.  "Now  take  my 
hand  and  bend  over  me  —  no,  it  is  a  wo-man's  hand!" 
she  cried  indignantly,  baring  her  pretty  arm,  and  holding  it 
forth  to  the  Prophet,  who  took  it  awkwardly  and  held  it  away 
from  him.  "Kiss  it,  Prophet!  It  is  good  to  kiss!" 

As  the  Prophet's  lips  closed  upon  the  little  hand,  laughter 
came  from  the  mouth  of  the  cave,  and  Alexandra  appeared 
with  Hugh.  Morris,  wrapping  his  tunic  about  him  in  embar 
rassed  silence,  plucked  at  his  beard.  But  the  Signora  Fontana 
announced  unabashed :  — 


AT  THE  CAVE  OF  THE  PROPHET    197 

"I  was  giving  the  Prophet  a  little  lesson  in  love.  You 
never  made  love  to  a  woman,  no?"  she  said  reproachfully  to 
the  blushing  Prophet.  "But  what  good  to  be  a  Prophet  if 
you  have  never  made  love?  If  you  haven't  had  the  experience 
of  woman?  .  .  .  Now  I  will  teach  you!  Put  your  hand 
in  mine  again  —  come!" 

The  sulky  Prophet  refused  the  lady's  advances,  serving 
thus  to  rouse  further  merriment  from  his  sister. 

"He  is  vera  obstinate/'  complained  the  Signora.  "Your 
prophet,  now,"  —  she  looked  approvingly  at  Hugh, — "he 
can  make  love,  no?" 

"I  hope  you  have  left  us  some  luncheon,"  Alexandra 
remarked,  coldly.  "While  you  rehearse  Morris  in  the 
gentle  art  of  love  we  will  see  what  there  is  to  eat.  I  am 
famished!"  .  .  . 

Thus  with  jest  and  light  laughter  the  time  sped  at  the 
cave  of  the  Prophet  until  the  falling  sun  sank  behind  the 
cliff. 

"Come,  Prophet!"  said  the  Signora.  "It  is  time  to  go 
back." 

"Morris  never  comes  to  the  Hall,"  said  Alexandra.  "I'll 
send  Mason  up  with  some  more  provisions  for  him." 

The  Signora  cried  in  protest :  — 

"Of  course  he  comes  back  with  me!  I  want  him  to  play 
with.  I  can't  stay  in  that  great  house  all  alone  without  my 
Prophet.  He  was  a  man  —  sometime."  And  then  to  the 
hesitating  Morris,  "Mr.  Prophet,  you  come  along  with 
me  like  a  nice  man." 

And  Morris,  still  pulling  at  his  beard,  obeyed,  to  his 
sister's  astonishment,  meekly  following  the  little  Signora 
over  the  snowy  path. 

"He  is  a  good  little  Prophet,"  purred  the  Signora.  "I'll 
teach  him  to  make  love  —  then  he  will  be  perfect!" 


198  A  LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

The  great  house  was  warmly  lighted,  and  its  master  was 
seated  alone  in  its  lofty  hall  before  his  famous  picture,  his 
eyes  resting  in  loving  contemplation  upon  the  forms  of  the 
Holy  Family.  Observing  his  bearded  son,  he  growled  :- 

"Frozen  out?" 

The  Prophet  slunk  away  to  his  bath,  and  the  little  Signora 
chirped,  "We  are  going  to  take  him  back  to  the  City  —  to 
see  life." 

The  old  man  said  to  his  daughter:  — 

"She'll  put  him  into  pants!" 

Alexandra  laughed. 


XX 

THE  WILL  BEHIND 

,THE  years  seemed  to  have  left  no  mark  upon  Alexander 
Arnold.  To  Hugh  Grant  the  white-haired  man  seated 
before  his  rare  picture  in  silent  contemplation  was  pre 
cisely  that  one  whom  he  had  confronted  years  before  upon 
the  steps  of  the  City  house.  It  was  as  if  life  had  worn  him 
to  the  essential  metal,  and  nothing  —  no  shock  public  or 
private  —  could  make  further  impression.  Even  a  son  like 
the  Prophet  evoked  merely  a  few  grim  words. 

"It's  a  fine  picture!"  he  observed  at  last,  motioning  to  the 
Madonna,  upon  whom  shone  a  mellow  light. 

"Beautiful  —  but  I  don't  know  pictures." 

"They  are  among  the  few  things  worth  knowing  well." 

He  looked  at  the  young  man  steadily,  with  impassive  scru 
tiny,  and  Hugh  wondered  whether  he  was  even  remembered. 

"So  you  are  back  again?"  Arnold  said  at  last,  when  the 
silence  was  becoming  unbearable. 

"Yes,    sir." 

The  old  man  refrained  from  question  or  remark  that  had  to 
do  with  business.  The  younger  man,  impatient  in  presence 
of  him  whose  will  was  behind  all,  mentioned  brusquely:  — 

"This  power  company — " 

"What  company?"  Arnold  demanded  shortly. 

"The  Universal  Power." 

"Oh,  you  mean  Whiting's  affair!" 

"Whoever  may  be  interested  in  it,  they  are  making  a  mis 
take  in  capitalizing  it  for  five  times  what  the  properties  are 
worth ! "  he  said  boldly. 

199 


200  A  LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

"How  do  you  know  that?" 

"Because  I  know  what  they  are  earning." 

Arnold  smiled,  as  if  the  objection  were  childish.  What 
had  earning  power  to  do  with  capitalization  of  enterprise? 
This  able  young  man  had  not  yet  learned  to  distinguish 
between  finance  and  industry.  The  old  man  observed  dryly: 

"I  believe  it  was  you  yourself  who  once  pointed  out  to  me 
the  great  possibilities  of  that  mountain  region." 

"And  what  I  said  has  been  justified  —  but  — 

"The  only  practicable  source  of  power  in  that  section  is 
water  power?" 

"True." 

"Then  I  do  not  see  how  we  can  predict  what  the  earning 
capacity  of  these  properties  will  be." 

This  was  what  Gossom  called  "the  impervious  optimism" 
of  our  great  leaders.  But  from  the  remark  Hugh  inferred 
that  the  Universal  Power  Company  was  to  be  sold  to  the 
public  —  after  it  had  been  boomed  to  a  price  in  the  market! 

"It  will  be  your  business,"  the  old  man  said  judiciously, 
"to  make  the  business  earn  all  that  it  can.  Do  not  worry 
over  the  future." 

Kindly  advice  to  the  young  man!  His  position  was  that 
of  the  good  servant  whom  his  master  was  ready  to  promote  in 
this  world.  Be  content,  Arnold  was  saying,  to  be  the  im 
portant  and  serviceable  spoke  in  this  great  wheel  that  abler 
and  stronger  men  will  put  in  motion.  Nevertheless,  blinded 
as  the  younger  man  was  by  love,  caught  in  the  meshes  of  the 
net,  something  within  him  demanded  its  right. 

"The  time  is  past,  sir,  when  that  sort  of  thing  can  be  done 
safely!" 

"What  do  you  mean?"  the  old  man  asked  sharply. 

"For  three  years  I  have  been  living  out  there,  away  from 
cities  and  banks  and  finance.  I  have  been  living  in  a  new 
world  —  among  the  people." 


THE   WILL  BEHIND  201 

Arnold  snapped :  — 

"The  people  are  the  same  all  over/' 

"There  is  a  spirit  abroad  that  Mr.  Whiting  and  his  asso 
ciates  have  not  sufficiently  reckoned  with  —  among  the 
people,"  Hugh  persisted  quietly. 

"The  people!"  The  old  man  turned  out  the  light  that 
had  shone  upon  the  fair,  painted  face.  Evidently  this  servant 
was  not  what  he  and  Whiting  had  thought  him  to  be.  He 
needed  some  of  those  elementary  lessons  in  economic  law 
that  President  Nathaniel  Butterfield  might  have  given  him. 

"Mr.  Grant,  I  have  known  'the  people'  a  good  many  years. 
In  our  country  with  our  institutions  they  make  a  noise;  but 
they  do  not  count.  This  present  clamor  is  newspaper  talk. 
Business  goes  on." 

"The  people  are  learning  all  the  time." 

"Learning  what?"  the  old  man  snapped. 

"Learning  that  corporations  like  the  Universal  Power 
Company  are  robbing  them  — " 

"Robbing  them?" 

"Of  life  —  their  chance  to  live."     «~ 

Arnold  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  remarked  with  a 
scarcely  perceptible  sneer,  "What  chance  to  live  will  they 
have  if  they  ruin  business?  .  .  .  The  country  is  all  right, 
ready  for  a  great  leap  forward,  if  we  are  let  alone!  And  I 
think  that  we  shall  be  let  alone  for  the  next  few  years.  That's 
all  we  want  —  to  be  let  alone." 

Let  us  alone!  The  growl  of  the  individualistic  spirit  that 
the  old  man  voiced  was  the  common  cry  of  his  kind  from 
sea  to  sea.  Let  us  alone!  And  the  younger  man  was  silent, 
at  last  aware  of  the  futility  of  protest,  of  modification  of  this 
spirit.  He  had  gone  farther  than  he  knew,  farther  than  he 
himself  had  thought,  along  the  steps  of  Power. 

As  he  sat  there  in  silence  opposite  Alexander  Arnold,  a  curi 
ous  wonder  came  into  his  mind,  —  what  can  this  old  man  with 


202  A  LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

that  feeble  son,  sitting  here  before  his  picture,  warming  his 
old  blood  at  the  fire,  want?  Why  add  this  new  company 
to  his  others?  these  few  millions  to  the  many  already  in  his 
hoard?  ...  He  glanced  with  a  feeling  almost  of  contempt 
at  the  little,  old,  white-haired  man,  with  his  long,  curving 
fingers. 

Of  him  Percy  Todd  had  written  in  Ambition,  "Alexander 
Arnold  is  one  of  the  most  effective  forces  of  modern  civiliza 
tion, — a  supreme  example  of  the  application  of  imagina 
tion  to  the  economic  world."  Hugh  knew  how  false  this 
was.  Alexander  Arnold  had  never  created  or  imagined  any 
thing.  He  had  bought  what  was  cheap  and  had  sold  it  dear 
to  the  public.  Others  conceived,  others  dared,  others  dreamed; 
Arnold  bought  and  sold,  like  the  huckster  in  the  market, 
only  on  an  enormous  scale.  The  charitably-minded  Butter- 
field  had  said,  thinking  of  Arnold,  "The  really  great  are 
commonly  misunderstood  by  their  own  generation."  Ay, 
but  not  as  the  genial  Nathaniel  thought.  The  people  feared 
Arnold;  his  name  was  always  on  their  lips  —  because  they 
did  not  understand  him!  .  .  . 

i  Hugh  Grant  rose  arid  crossed  the  room  to  the  embrasure  of 
the  stately  window  and  looked  forth  upon  the  peaceful 
snowy  meadows  of  Paradise  Valley  through  which  wound 
the  sinuous  black  thread  of  the  rippling  river.  At  the  other 
end  of  the  room  Arnold  was  examining  a  fine  print  with  a 
magnifying  glass,  ignoring  the  presence  of  the  younger  man. . . . 

In  that  noble  room,  equipped  with  the  precious  spoil  of 
many  ages,  significant  events  had  occurred,  such  as  that 
Sunday  gathering  of  bankers  and  capitalists  who  had  de 
creed  the  fate  of  the  National  Deposit  and  let  loose  panic. 
In  that  reposeful  room  alliances  had  been  consummated, 
which  had  reached  in  influence  to  the  humblest  laborer  of 
the  black-coated  stream.  Schemes  of  conquest  had  been 
conceived,  to  be  executed  by  lieutenants.  In  that  stately 


THE  WILL  BEHIND  203 

room  there  had  been  scenes  of  a  lighter  character,  domestic 
and  passional,  and  much  discussion  of  art  and  letters.  In 
deed,  here  had  been  planned  not  long  before  the  magnificent 
gift  to  the  nation  of  the  Arnold  collections,  over  which 
Gossom  and  Todd  and  Butterfield  had  waxed  duly  eloquent. 

So  this  meeting  at  the  December  nightfall  of  old  Alexander 
Arnold  with  Hugh  Grant,  —  a  stripling  yet  in  the  field,  — 
was  of  small  moment.  Nevertheless,  in  the  involution  of 
intricate  fate,  it  might  in  the  end  be  found  significant,  also. 
He  had  lived  and  thought  slowly  all  these  years,  but  latterly, 
since  his  feet  had  touched  the  steps  of  power,  life  had  sud 
denly  quickened.  Standing  there  beside  the  window  in  the 
gloom,  the  young  man  began  to  see  where  the  steps  of 
power  led.  He  strode  back  into  the  room,  about  to  speak, 
when  Alexandra  appeared.  She  went  slowly  toward  her 
father,  and,  laying  a  caressing  hand  upon  his  shoulder,  bent 
over  him,  her  golden  hair  touching  his  white  hair. 

"So  solemn  in  the  dusk!"  she  said,  and  looked  across  to 
Hugh,  with  a  movement  of  the  head  that  seemed  to  say 
again,  "  I  am  my  father's  daughter ! "  And  caught  by  love,  the 
young  man  let  the  words  die.  Arnold  remarked  in  a  casual 
tone,  as  though  he  had  forgotten  what  had  been  said:  — 

"You  will  be  going  back  to  the  mountains  soon,  I  suppose?  " 

The  stripling  had  been  answered ;  the  underling  to  his  post ! 
In  that  subtle  language  of  silence  where  human  beings  face 
to  face  exchange  the  deeper  thought  within,  he  and  Arnold 
conversed.  Then  he  said:- 

"Not  yet!    I  shall  go  to  Washington  first." 

1 '  To  Washington ? ' '  Arnold  queried .  That  seat  of  govern 
ment  was  the  province  of  another  set  of  agents. 

"Yes,  to  Washington!  The  Rainbow  Falls  case  is  to  be 
heard." 

The  old  man  made  a  little  gesture  with  his  hands. 

"We  shall  be  there  this  winter/'  Alexandra  remarked. 


204  A   LIFE  FOR  A   LIFE 

"  Washington  is  such  an  interesting  sort  of  place — some 
thing  important  seems  always  about  to  happen." 

" Perhaps  this  time  it  will  happen/'  Hugh  replied  vaguely. 
"And  now  I  must  go." 

"We  will  take  you  to  the  City  to-morrow,  with  the  Signora 
and  the  Prophet." 

But  he  would  go,  impelled  to  escape  into  the  night,  to  flee 
for  the  time  from  the  woman  he  loved,  from  the  place  where 
love  was  a  jest,  and  life  was  art  and  selfish  will. 

Alexandra  went  with  him  to  the  edge  of  the  broad  terrace, 
loath  to  have  him  part,  seeking  a  word  that  would  not  come 
to  summon  back  the  mood  of  the  morning.  But  neither 
spoke.  The  mood  of  the  morning  had  gone  like  the  sunlight 
in  the  still  December  forest. 

"Washington,  then!" 


XXI 


OUR  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS 

IN  the  long,  swift-moving  train,  speeding  southwards  to  the 
capital  of  the  Nation  that  brilliant  winter  afternoon,  there  was 
assembled  as  large  and  varied  a  throng  of  pilgrims  as  ever  set 
forth  from  Tabard  Inn  for  the  cathedral  spires.  Not  clad  in 
motley  garb  marking  their  degree,  to  be  sure;  but  all  clothed 
soberly  in  warm  furs  and  neat  business  clothes  as  became  a 
practical  people.  But  in  mind  and  heart  it  was  a  various 
gathering  of  patriots,  all  hopefully  centred  upon  the  great 
dome  of  the  Capitol,  cherishing  secret  desires  to  be  there  fulfilled. 

It  was  the  close  of  the  holidays;  grave  judges,  fussy  legisla 
tors,  anxious  business  men,  comfortable  dilettantes,  important 
scientists,  jubilant  journalists  —  above  all  gracious  Woman! 
—  were  comfortably  journeying  to  the  navel  of  worldly  affairs 
upon  the  Continent.  For  the  people  of  this  great  country, 
by  their  representatives  in  Congress  assembled,  were  engaged 
in  the  annual  effort  to  make  laws  for  themselves.  At  the 
moment,  they  were  laboring  over  that  marvellous  structure 
of  privilege  known  as  the  Tariff.  In  the  vernacular,  the  great 
"Trough"  had  been  set  beneath  the  Dome,  and  the  hogs 
were  fighting  for  the  fodder.  Or  to  use  the  more  decorous 
Butterfield  phrase,  "The  Nation  is  now  struggling  with  the 
intricate  problem  of  its  economic  development,  so  adjusting 
the  burdens  of  taxation  that  its  eighty  millions  of  citizens 
may  continue  to  enjoy  the  constitutional  guarantee  of  'Life, 
liberty,  and  the  pursuit  of  Happiness'!" 

205 


206  A   LIFE  FOR  A   LIFE 

So  this  bright  winter  day,  a  gleaming  mantle  of  snow 
softly  spread  over  the  hard  earth  outside  and  genial  black 
servants  ministering  to  physical  comfort  within,  the  Congres 
sional  Limited  is  a  cheery  scene.  In  one  of  the  forward  com 
partments  a  small  group  of  those  representatives  of  the  people, 
entrusted  by  the  nation  with  the  care  of  its  "  Life,  liberty,  and 
pursuit  of  happiness,"  is  playing  poker  and  discussing  politics 
in  a  desultory  fashion.  The  youngish  man,  smooth-shaven, 
who  grasps  his  cards  with  the  nervous  tremor  of  a  novice,  has 
come  from  a  far  northern  town  near  the  national  boundary. 
He  represents  "Pulp."  Opposite  him  is  seated  an  old 
gray-haired  dog,  knowing  in  the  game;  he  is  "Boots  and 
Shoes."  In  the  party  are  also  "Hats"  and  "Gloves"  and 
"Socks"  and  "Phosphates."  The  latter  is  a  leader,  and  as 
he  deals  the  cards  he  delivers  himself:  — 

"The  East  must  give  way  to  the  West,  this  time.  The 
people  out  there  will  be  heard." 

But  the  knowing  one  —  "Boots  and  Shoes  "  —  shakes  his 
head. 

"It's  fixed  already  —  the  schedules  will  go  through  pretty 
much  as  they  are." 

Percy  Todd,  who  is  seated  at  his  elbow,  handsome  and 
debonair,  also  bound  for  the  capital,  where  among  other 
errands  he  will  gather  those  tidbits  of  personal  anecdote  for 
Ambition  so  much  relished  by  the  public,  —  "Gossip  about  the 
Great,"  —  pricks  up  his  ears. 

"Dexter's  made  a  trade  with  those  kickers  from  the  moun 
tain  states  —  you'll  see,"  and  so  it  goes.  .  .  . 

In  a  neighboring  compartment  some  men  of  business  — 
serious  souls  these  —  discuss  pet  schedules  of  that  mighty 
Tariff,  and  smoke  many  cigars,  speaking  in  grave  tones  of  the 
"state  of  industry,"  " unsettlement  of  business,"  "unrest," 
and  other  earthquaking  themes.  They  will  appear  before 
committees  and  plead  for  their  interests  in  the  coming 
cutting  of  the  national  Pie. 


OUR  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS  207 

In  the  smoking-room  of  the  common  car,  lounging  on  the 
leather  cushion  in  Olympian  ease,  sits  Nathaniel  Butterfield, 
exchanging  gossip  with  the  man  from  the  Good  Deeds  Office, 
who  has  been  made  a  secretary  of  a  commission  for  investigat 
ing  this  or  that.  President  Butterfield,  who  is  to  preside  at 
the  meetings  of  a  scientific  body  in  the  capital,  is  forced  for  the 
nonce  to  travel  without  state,  and  genially  improves  the  oppor 
tunity  to  exchange  political  gossip  with  the  alert  agent  of  the 
Good  Deeds  Office. 

We  must  pass  hastily  over  the  ranks  of  the  commoner  kind, 
contenting  themselves  with  magazines  in  the  velvet  plush 
chairs  of  the  public  coach,  —  country  members,  lawyers, 
brokers,  and  the  lesser  sort  of  man.  Among  these  in  an  ob 
scure  corner  is  seated  an  old  man,  grizzled,  and  humped  with 
rheumatism,  a  coat  of  faded  blue  pilot  cloth  hanging  beside 
him.  He  gazes  steadily  out  of  the  window  upon  the  snowy 
landscape,  absorbed  in  the  flying  scene  of  field  and  village, — and 
in  his  memories.  Years  ago,  as  a  youth  of  seventeen,  he  had 
made  this  journey,  —  less  swiftly,  less  comfortably.  Crowded 
into  dirty  coaches  with  his  boyish  comrades  he  was  journeying 
southwards  then  to  fight  for  his  country.  .  .  .  Ah,  long 
years  ago!  and  most  of  these  Canterbury  pilgrims  have  for 
gotten  the  fact.  Now  he  hopes  to  get  something  out  of  the 
domed  Capitol,  like  all  the  rest  —  a  little  increase  in  that 
monthly  pension,  which  a  generous  government  has  been 
paying  him  for  thirty  years  and  more.  Others  have  dipped 
their  hands  deep  into  the  nation's  purse — why  not  he?  That 
other  time  he  was  not  thinking  of  pay.  The  youth  went  to 
fight  the  battle  of  the  Nation.  .  .  .  By  his  side  squirms 
restlessly  a  little  boy,  his  grandson,  full  of  question :  — 

"And  is  Washington  the  place  where  they  make  the  laws  for 
all  the  people?"  he  demands  in  his  piercing  treble. 

"Yes,"  the  old  man  murmurs. 

"I  want  to  see  that,"  the  boy  says. 


208  A  LIFE  FOR  A   LIFE 

Is  it  possible  that  the  only  patriot  among  all  these  eager 
pilgrims  is  this  same  small  boy? 

But  too  long  we  have  tarried  among  these  lesser  folk  in  the 
long  train.  At  the  rear  is  a  private  car.  In  the  station  it  was 
austerely  guarded  from  the  common  crowd,  —  dim  and  empty ; 
but  just  as  the  train  was  about  to  move  off  three  gentlemen 
arrived  in  a  swift  motor  and  unobtrusively  entered  the  car, 
making  themselves  comfortable  for  the  journey  as  they  would 
in  office  or  club.  They  are  Alexander  Arnold,  whose  private 
coach  it  is,  Oliver  Whiting  of  the  Republic,  and  a  tall  lean 
gentleman,  gray-bearded,  with  fine,  aristocratic  face  and 
bearing,  —  the  well-known  Senator  Dexter.  The  Senator 
is  on  his  way  to  resume  those  labors  of  government  for  the 
people  that  the  small  boy  hopes  to  witness.  But  the  boy 
dwells  in  the  land  of  illusion,  like  most  of  us.  Senator  Dexter, 
able  and  powerful,  learned  and  rich,  does  not  represent  the 

\people  yonder  beneath  the  Dome.  He  is  Senator  from  the  great 
state  of ,  in  which  "Boots  and  Shoes"  and  " Socks"  are 

humble  yeomen.     But  Senator  Dexter  does  not  represent  the 

great   state  of  .     He  represents   "Pulp,"    "Boots   and 

Shoes,"  "Socks,"  "Phosphates,"  and  many,  many  more  odd 
things  —  for  his  reach  is  long.  But  above  all  he  represents 
HIMSELF  and  Alexander  Arnold,  the  quiet,  old,  white-haired 
man, — and  his  class,  including  Oliver  Whiting,  who  is  scurrying 
to  Washington  for  a  day  out  of  his  busy  life  to  seethe  President 
and  tell  him  what  the  country  needs  to  have  done  —  or  princi 
pally  not  done  —  "if  business  confidence  is  to  be  maintained." 
The  conversation  of  these  three  in  the  luxurious  calm  of  the 
car"  Alexandria  "would  be  of  exceeding  interest  to  all  the  other 
pilgrims  on  the  train,  if  they  had  been  permitted  to  hear  it. 
But,  alas !  we  not  more  than  they  can  penetrate  that  exclusive 
vehicle  of  power.  Only  in  the  events  to  come  may  we  be  per 
mitted  to  infer  the  tenor  of  that  conference,  and  know  that 
it  was  entirely  harmonious  and  inspired  by  the  purest  sort  of 


OUR  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS  209 

practical  patriotism,  —  "What  is  good  for  me  is  good  for 
thee,  and  for  our  country!" 

Leave  these  three  gentlemen  of  power  at  their  abstemious 
luncheon  in  the  private  car  "  Alexandria/7  and  return  to  a 
little  compartment,  midway  on  the  train,  where  a  short,  plump, 
large-headed  man,  with  a  broad  forehead,  is  seated  beside  the 
window,  an  open  book  upon  his  lap,  a  number  of  legal-looking 
papers  scattered  on  the  seat  beside  him,  and  on  the  window 
ledge  a  bottle  of  sparkling  mineral  water.  It  is  the  legal  fox, 
Thomas  Talbot,  —  leader  in  that  band  of  skilful  lawyers  who 
have  made  this  age  famous  less  for  forensic  triumphs  than  for 
acrobatic  feats  of  casuistry  in  defending  the  rights  of  property 
against  the  wayward  greed  of  the  lawless.  Opposite  him  is 
Hugh  Grant.  The  lawyer  caught  sight  of  the  younger  man, 
as  the  latter  strode  down  the  platform  with  knitted  brows, 
and  being  something  of  a  student  of  men,  tapped  upon  the  win 
dow  and  beckoned  him  within,  —  to  see  whether  the  banker's 
protege*  was  altogether  a  "safe  man."  These  two  have  had 
a  pleasant  journey,  thus  far,  for  the  gray  fox  is  an  amiable  as 
well  as  a  learned  man  of  the  large  world. 

Upon  his  fat  knees  is  Augustine's  "City  of  God."  In 
that  riverside  "Farm,"  where  the  great  lawyer  relaxes,  is  a 
rare  library  of  philosophical  works  and  mediaeval  divinity,  and 
between  these  and  his  tulip-beds  he  spends  such  time  as  he 
can  spare  from  his  labors  in  the  City.  In  some  other  day,  with 
another  set  of  impulses  abroad  in  the  world,  Thomas  Talbot 
would  have  been  a  bishop  of  the  Church,  possibly  a  Pope, 
learned  in  patristic  lore,  great  in  council.  With  his  glasses 
balanced  in  one  hand,  a  fine  smile  illuminating  his  intellectual 
countenance,  he  has  just  completed  an  ingenious  metaphysical 
defence  of  Infallibility,  touching  deftly  upon  idealistic  phi 
losophy,  —  the  Neo-Platonists,  the  Hegelians,  and  the  English 
tract-movement,  —  indicating  to  any  one  versed  in  the  lan 
guage  that  the  lawyer  inclined  to  metaphysical  idealism  as  the 


210  A   LIFE   FOR  A   LIFE 

best  possible  interpretation  of  the  illusory  earthly  phenomena, 
which  for  lack  of  a  better  term  we  commonly  call  life.  His 
learned  argument  has  not  evoked  much  intelligent  comment 
from  his  companion.  Indeed,  Hugh  Grant,  doing  his  best  to 
follow  the  weaving  hypotheses,  arrives  merely  at  the  crude 
conclusion  that  it  makes  very  little  difference  what  a  man 
believes  with  his  head.  The  lawyer,  mentally  deploring  the 
lack  of  philosophical  training  among  able  men  of  affairs,  now 
contemplates  the  snowy  landscape,  gaining  therefrom  a  subtle 
suggestion  that  curves  the  muscles  of  his  clean-shaven  mouth. 

"Not  far  from  here  is  the  spot  where  Washington  crossed 
the  Delaware,"  he  observed,  pointing  to  the  bleak  field. 
"  Some  improvements  in  transportation  since  then !  We  have 
agreeably  traversed  in  a  couple  of  hours  what  it  took  the 
father  of  our  country  two  years  to  subdue." 

The  swift  train  was  rushing  past  a  shabby  farmhouse,  con 
sisting  of  two  rooms  and  an  exterior  brick  chimney.  A  gaunt 
woman  with  some  children  about  her  knees  stood  at  the 
door  of  the  house. 

"You  saw  that  hovel?"  the  lawyer  said.  "It  was  a  home 
in  this  part  of  the  country  not  unlike  that  from  which  Mr. 
Arnold  came.  Think  of  the  ability  a  man  must  have  —  the 
sheer  will  and  mental  power  —  to  lift  himself  out  of  that  hole ! 
It  is  such  power  which  foolish  agitators  are  trying  to  cripple 
by  law.  They  might  as  well  attempt  to  stem  the  eternal 
tides  with  brooms." 

He  oscillated  his  glasses  between  thumb  and  forefinger  dis 
dainfully,  and  sipped  his  mineral  water. 

"I,  too,  came  from  a  home  like  that!"  Hugh  exclaimed 
abruptly. 

"Indeed!"  The  lawyer  examined  the  well-clothed  person 
before  him  with  fresh  interest.  "In  our  country,"  he  said 
sympathetically,  "it  happens  so  again  and  again.  Individu 
ality  triumphs!" 


OUR  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS  211 

"What  is  more,  I  was  a  foundling." 

" A  foundling!" 

"  I  was  taken  into  the  home  of  a  kind  old  man,  —  David 
Grant,  —  who  was  poor." 

"The  best  training  for  success!"  the  lawyer  beamed. 

"David  Grant  gave  me  his  name,"  Hugh  continued,  less  to 
the  lawyer  than  to  himself.  "He  was  an  honest  man.  I  am 
beginning  to  understand  what  that  means." 

Talbot  looked  at  his  companion  with  puzzled  interest. 

"He  died  poor.  He  gave  me  what  he  had.  Indeed,  he  was 
the  source  of  all  that  I  have  to-day,  indirectly.  Years  ago  he 
had  some  business  with  Mr.  Arnold,  who  was  not  a  rich  man 
then." 

"I  seem  to  remember,"  the  lawyer  said,  with  a  dry  smile. 

"It  was  through  Mr.  Arnold  that  my  first  chance  in  the 
world  came." 

"I  am  sure  that  Arnold  discovered  the  right  material  in 
you,"  observed  the  lawyer,  suavely.  "He  is  not  one  to  help 
the  incompetent  out  of  sentimentality!" 

"It  remains  to  be  seen,"  said  Grant,  with  a  little  smile, 
"whether  it  was  the  right  material,  as  you  call  it." 

"You  have  made  extraordinarily  good,  as  the  saying  is  — 
for  a  man  of  your  years!"  Talbot  took  another  sip  of  the 
mineral  wi  ier  and  smiled  amiably  upon  the  younger  man. 

"Out  there  in  the  mountains,  you  mean?  Oh,  I  have 
merely  done  as  any  other  might,  given  the  opportunity.  I 
have  done  the  thing  that  came  to  hand  —  then  the  next,  and 
the  next — " 

"That  is  the  way  of  all  great  achievement!" 

"But  now  it  is  not  clear  to  me  —  the  next." 

"You  mean?" 

"Thus  far  I  have  been  a  servant,  —  one  who  accepted  his 
job  for  the  sake  of  his  bread,  and  did  the  job  in  order  to 
earn  more  bread — " 


212  A  LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

"We  are  all  more  or  less  servants  in  that  sense/'  said  the 
lawyer,  mildly. 

"Some  more  rather  than  less!  ...  It  might  have 
gone  on  always  like  that.  But  suddenly  matters  have  shaped 
themselves  so  that  the  next  step  is  not  clear.  I  am  not  sure 
—  I  am  trying  to  see!" 

He  looked  gravely  out  upon  the  snowy  landscape,  pondering. 

"You  must  consider  what?" 

"The  meaning  of  things  — 

"The  meaning  of  things?"  repeated  the  lawyer,  puzzled. 

The  younger  man  suddenly  turned  upon  him  with  a  swift 
demand :  — 

"Is  this  Universal  Power  Company  merely  legal  robbery?" 

"Legal  robbery!"  the  lawyer  exclaimed,  shocked  by  the 
raw  phrase. 

"That's  what  they  think  of  it  out  there!" 

"Out  where?" 

"In  the  mountains  —  at  Tomahawk  —  out  there!"  he  re 
peated  with  a  motion  of  his  head  toward  the  boundless 
West. 

The  lawyer  laughed  a  mellow  note,  as  if  the  opinion  of  the 
city  of  Tomahawk  upon  any  subject  was  an  idea  of  delicious 
absurdity. 

"I  do  not  know  what  the  people  of  Tomahawk  base  their 
opinion  upon.  Toma-hawk,  —  isn't  that  the  place  where 
Senator  Dexter's  great  mine  is  located?  " 

"Yes  —  and  a  branch  of  Ravi's  railroad,  and  a  number  of 
other  interests  —  but  there  are  men  out  there  also ! " 

The  lawyer  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"I  suppose  you  refer  to  this  Rainbow  Falls  case?"  The 
lawyer  tapped  the  package  of  typed  documents  on  the  seat 
beside  him.  "It  is  my  present  mission  to  prove  to  the  satis 
faction  of  the  Supreme  Court  of  the  United  States  that  the 
law  on  which  the  conviction  against  the  power  company  was 


OUR   CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS.  213 

obtained  is  unconstitutional.  I  should  like  you  to  hear  my 
argument  if  you  have  the  time." 

"I  don't  know  about  such  things/'  the  younger  man  mused. 
"And  that's  what  I  am  here  for  —  I  want  to  know!" 

The  lawyer  gave  a  clear  synopsis  of  the  celebrated  Rainbow 
Falls  case.  At  the  conclusion  the  younger  man  re 
marked  :  — 

"  Isn't  it  said  that  law  was  passed  for  the  precise  purpose 
of  being  found  unconstitutional  — " 

"I  don't  know  about  that." 

"A  thing  may  be  legal  and  still  —  robbery  ?  "  Beneath  the 
tan  of  Tomahawk  which  still  endured  on  his  clear  skin  there 
was  a  faint  red. 

"My  dear  fellow,"  the  gray-haired  lawyer  remarked,  laying 
a  hand  paternally  upon  Grant's  knee,  "don't  bother  yourself 
with  such  rot.  Leave  it  to  me.  ...  I  am  afraid  you  have 
been  taking  newspaper  talk  too  seriously." 

"I  do  not  make  up  my  mind  on  talk  —  I  mean  to  get  the 
facts.  That's  why  I  am  going  to  Washington." 

Of  all  the  human  chatter  on  the  long  train  this  was  perhaps 
the  most  unaccountable.  The  lawyer  thought  so  at  least. 
It  had  been  his  duty  again  and  again  in  his  long  years  of 
practice  to  restrain  ardent  clients  from  doing  things  which 
were  patently  criminal,  and  still  oftener  to  find  legal  ways  of 
obtaining  illegal  desires.  But  it  had  never  been  his  fortune  to 
persuade  men  that  they  could  take  what  there  was  a  clear  legal 
opportunity  for  them  to  grasp !  And  this  was  the  man  whom 
it  had  been  seriously  proposed  to  advance  to  a  position  of 
high  authority  in  the  great  power  company,  already  popularly 
known  as  the  Power  Trust!  What  was  he?  Mere  crank? 
Notoriety-hunter?  Reformer?  Sentimentalist?  Weak- 
kneed  academic  idealist?  They  were  the  most  opprobrious 
names  to  be  found  in  the  human  index  expurgatorius  of  the 
great  lawyer,  and  none  of  them  seemed  to  fit  exactly  the 


214  A   LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

clean-limbed,  energetic,  grave-eyed  young  man  opposite 
him.  .  .  . 

"Even  if  the  Supreme  Court  reverses  the  decision,  as  you 
expect  it  will,  and  dissolves  the  injunction,  that  does  not  settle 
the  whole  question.  It  may  be  robbery,  just  the  same.  And 
out  there " —  he  motioned  again  with  his  head  to  the  de 
clining  sun  —  "they  won't  stand  for  it!  I  know,  because  I 
have  lived  away  from  the  City  long  enough  to  see  things  as 
they  see  them.  The  grab  game,  Mr.  Talbot,  has  been  pretty 
nearly  finished." 

"Think  so?"  The  lawyer  laughed  dryly,  and  rang  for 
whiskey.  "What  are  you,  anyway,  Grant?  You  talk  like  a 
damned  reformer."  .  .  . 

So  the  swift  train  sped  on  its  perfect  road-bed  through  vil 
lage  and  town  and  over  frozen  winter  fields  while  the  lawyer 
argued  genially  with  the  younger  man.  He  gave  an 
illuminating  picture  of  American  life,  a  little  resume*  of 
history,  incidentally  a  few  philosophical  remarks  upon 
the  nature  of  man.  Civilization,  he  held,  was  based  upon 
law.  The  uncivilized  animal  man  was  held  in  some  sort 
of  order  by  law,  and  the  chief  concern  of  law  was  Property. 
Property  was  sacred,  and  the  right  to  create  it,  to  hold  it,  to 
use  it  as  its  possessor  would,  to  pass  it  on  after  his  death  as 
he  desired,  —  that  was  the  sacred  barrier  which  stood  between 
animal-natured  man  and  social  chaos.  Talbot  became  warm 
with  his  own  eloquence,  quoted  from  many  languages,  grew 
emphatic,  upset  the  mineral  water  and  rang  for  more. 

"Confiscation  of  property  —  that's  what  all  this  social  un 
rest  means,  just  that  and  nothing  else.  And  every  man  who  is 
a  patriot  must  fight  on  the  side  of  law  to  keep  society  from 
lapsing  into  barbarism." 

There  was  a  touch  of  moisture  in  his  eyes,  a  note  of  religious 
enthusiasm  in  his  voice.  But  at  the  end  Hugh  asked  calmly :  — 

"Whose  property,  sir?" 


OUR  CANTERBURY  PILGRIMS  215 

"  Whose ! ' '  Talbot  rang  for  another  glass  of  whiskey.  "  My 
God,  I  believe  you  are  a  socialist!" 

"I  don't  know  what  that  is  —  I  merely  wish  to  understand 
things." 

"  If  you  don't  understand  what  life  means  at  your  age,  you 
never  will !" 

" Oh,  I  think  I  shall." 

"  Don't  you  know  history?  Don't  you  know  that  the 
property  classes  always  govern,  always  must  govern?  That 
under  any  condition  of  society  the  strong  men  will  get  to  the 
top,  as  Arnold  rose  out  of  that  muck-heap  back  there?  It  is 
the  reason  for  our  tremendous  advance  as  a  people  that  we 
make  it  easy  for  such  men  to  rise !  .  .  .  The  strong  in 
dividualism  of  the  American  people  will  never  permit  the 
confiscation  of  property,  nor  the  trammelling  of  those  cap 
able  of  leadership.  .  .  .  Constitutional  guarantees  must  be 
maintained.  .  .  .  'Life,  liberty,  and  the  pursuit  of  happi 
ness'!" 

In  the  far  distance  rose  dimly  a  great  dome,  swimming  in 
the  misty  light  of  the  late  afternoon. 

"That's  Washington!"  the  lawyer  exclaimed,  gathering  up 
his  papers. 

"Washington?"  the  younger  man  murmured,  looking  fixedly 
out  of  the  car  window  at  the  swimming  dome.  The  name 
conjured  a  thousand  thoughts,  and  sent  an  inexplicable  thrill 
through  his  nerves. 

"We'll  be  in  the  station  in  a  minute.  .  .  .  Well,  we've 
had  a  lot  of  talk  —  now  to  business!  Where  do  you  stop?  " 

A  preparatory  bustle  filled  the  train  from  end  to  end.  The 
pilgrims  were  coming  to  their  bright  destination,  and  the  thrill 
of  hopes  to  be  fulfilled  fluttered  each  in  his  way.  .  .  . 

"Are  we  going  now  to  see  the  men  make  the  laws  for  all  the 
people?"  the  little  boy  demanded  of  the  old  soldier. 

"Not  to-day." 


216  A  LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

"The  tariff  business  will  block  all  legislation  this  session," 
a  man  was  saying  to  a  companion  on  the  platform. 

The  old  lawyer,  with  his  little  black  bag  in  his  hand,  was 
slowly  passing,  and  seeing  Arnold  and  Senator  Dexter  about 
to  enter  the  Senator's  motor,  indicated  the  pair  with  a  wave  of 

his  bag. 

"I  fancy,"  he  said  to  Grant  with  a  twinkle,  "that  the  Tariff 
won't  be  in  the  way  long." 

"It  is  still  in  conference,  is  it  not?" 

The  lawyer  smiled. 

"  It  has  been  in  conference  —  all  this  afternoon.  It  must  be 
nearly  ready  for  the  President's  signature!" 

For  the  plump  little  lawyer  loved  his  jest. 


XXII 

"LIFE,  LIBERTY,  AND  THE  PURSUIT  OF  HAPPINESS" 

WASHINGTON!  ...  It  was  a  lovely  winter  morning 
when  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  Hugh  Grant  mounted  those 
long  flights  of  granite  steps  leading  to  the  Capitol.  His  heart 
was  filled  with  an  inexplicable  emotion.  Here,  in  this  broad- 
winged  granite  building,  beneath  the  swelling  dome,  the  spirit 
of  his  great  country  found  itself  at  last  in  government.  Here 
the  multitudinous,  the  warring  wills  of  the  nation  became 
fused  in  Law.  And  in  that  Law,  each  living  member  of  the 
whole,  from  the  lowliest  to  the  highest,  had  his  share.  "My 
country ! "  the  ingenuous  one  murmured  to  himself.  "  Here  in 
this  great  temple  of  the  people  shall  I  behold  its  spirit!"  .  .  . 

So  on  the  broad  terrace  before  the  Capitol,  he  lingered, 
watching  the  throng  of  clerks  and  visitors  as  they  came  up 
the  steps.  A  clear,  soft,  azure  sky  in  which  floated  a  few 
tiny  clouds  covered  the  city,  and  southwards  across  the 
winding  river  blue  hills  undulated  to  the  horizon.  Along 
the  broad,  radiating  avenues  beneath  him  the  trees  were 
white  with  a  light  fall  of  snow.  In  the  mild  winter  air 
human  voices  had  a  peculiar  soft  radiance.  There  was  no 
roar  of  traffic  and  trade,  no  harsh  cry  of  labor  in  this  place. 
The  fair  city  of  the  Nation  midway  between  the  suave  South 
land  and  the  stern  North,  with  the  broad  breast  of  the  con 
tinent  at  its  feet,  —  mountain,  valley,  and  plain,  —  what 
more  inspiring  point  in  the  whole  round  globe  than  this  for 
a  man  in  the  full  force  of  his  being  ! 

217 


218  A   LIFE  FOR  A   LIFE 

A  little  lad  standing  on  the  top  step  with  his  small  hand 
in  the  bony  hand  of  a  bent  old  man  was  peering  with  won 
der  at  the  lofty  dome  and  saying :  — 

"Grandfather,  is  that  where  laws  are  made  for  all  the 
people?" 

"Yes,  son." 

"Who  makes  the  laws?" 

"The  people  make  their  own  laws,  son." 

"For  everybody?" 

"Yes  —  for  you  and  me  and  all  the  people." 

And  the  old  man  with  the  little  lad  passed  on  toward 
the  halls  of  Congress  to  witness  this  mighty  operation. 

Gossom  crossed  the  terrace  after  them,  arm  in  arm  with 
Nathaniel  Butterfield,  —  silk-hatted,  frock-coated  gentle 
men,  with  the  red  blush  of  contented  good  health  on  their 
freshly  shaven  faces.  They  were  to  attend  the  meeting  of 
a  scientific  society,  created  by  the  bounty  of  a  rich 
citizen,  and  before  their  august  business  began  they  would 
pay  a  little  visit  to  the  Senate  offices.  They  paused  on  the 
terrace  not  far  from  Hugh,  and  gazed  admiringly  on  the 
beautiful  scene.  Gossom's  expansive  heart  swelled  with 
patriotic  pride  whenever  his  errands  took  him  to  the  national 
capital.  He  glowed  with  satisfaction  in  the  bigness,  the 
volume,  the  richness  of  it  all. 

"Ninety  millions,  almost!"  he  murmured.  "Another 
generation,  and  there  will  be  a  hundred  and  fifty  millions  of 
human  beings  in  this  country.  Marvellous!"  He  beheld 
them  now,  —  their  numberless  gaping  mouths  clamoring  for 
the  goods  pictured  in  the  magazines,  their  veins  inoculated 
with  Desire  through  education.  And  behind  them  he  saw 
mills,  warehouses,  factories,  railroads  throbbing  with  their 
efforts  to  satisfy  this  itching  want  of  a  nation.  It  was  a 
vision  of  colossal  appetite! 

"A  great  country,  this!"  he  sighed  in  the  sympathetic  ear 


"LIFE,   LIBERTY,   PURSUIT  OP  HAPPINESS"     219 

of  Butterfield.  "If  they'll  only  get  this  tariff  fixed,  so  that 
business  won't  be  disturbed." 

In  the  Gossom  faith,  to  be  busy  meant  Prosperity,  and 
Prosperity  meant  Happiness.  And  his  good  God  blessed 
those  who  had  attained  Prosperity,  and  hence  Happiness. 
The  university  president,  who  was  cherishing  secret  am 
bitions  for  diplomacy,  swelled  in  tune  with  Gossom. 

"I'm  told,"  he  said  importantly,  "that  it  will  be  prac 
tically  Senator  Dexter's  bill  and  acceptable  to  the  chief 
business  interests  of  the  country,"  etc.,  etc.  And  they  passed 
on  under  the  dome. 

O  Benjamin  Gossom,  once  a  shabby  lad  in  a  little  coun 
try  village,  with  a  hunger  for  books  and  reverence  for  the 
printed  word!  O  Nathaniel,  once  an  ardent  pleader  for 
political  justice,  keen  critic  of  "the  tariff-trough,"  where 
are  the  dreams  of  thy  youth,  Nathaniel  ?  .  .  . 

The  people  were  coming  up  the  steps  more  thickly  now, 
as  the  morning  drew  on,  not  merely  clerks  and  stenographers, 
but  legislators  themselves,  chatting  the  gossip  of  the  day,  or 
displaying  to  the  wondering  eyes  of  constituents  the  mag 
nificence  of  government.  The  corridors  within  the  Capitol 
became  full  of  these  leisurely  legislators,  —  the  people's  eyes 
and  minds  and  hearts.  Hugh  Grant,  following  the  stream 
toward  the  Senate,  stopped  at  the  small  doorway  of  the 
Supreme  Court,  before  which  had  gathered  already  a  crowd 
of  the  curious.  For  to-day  the  much-discussed  Power  Case 
was  to  be  argued  orally  before  this  highest  court. 

Within  the  small  hall  of  final  justice  there  was  a  mellow, 
subdued  light  that  seemed  dim  after  the  full  sunshine  out 
side.  Hugh  took  his  seat  upon  one  of  the  sober  benches 
amid  the  whispering  spectators.  The  centre  of  the  little 
room  was  well  filled  with  lawyers  and  court  attendants,  and 
a  few  ladies  richly  dressed  in  furs  occupied  a  reserved  bench 
across  the  room.  As  the  clock  crept  on  toward  the  hour 


220  A   LIFE  FOR  A   LIFE 

set  for  the  proceedings,  the  curious  pushed  at  the  doors  to 
get  at  least  a  glimpse  of  the  scene.  Idle  senators  and  con 
gressmen  strolled  in  from  their  halls  to  chat  with  the  mem 
bers  of  the  bar.  There  was  an  air  of  fluttered  excitement, 
unaccustomed  in  this  dim,  dignified  chamber  of  justice,  — 
as  at  a  fashionable  wedding,  a  public  funeral,  an  opera. 
For  the  Rainbow  Falls  case  —  popularly  known  as  the  Power 
Case  —  was  celebrated  in  its  day,  though  since  forgotten  in 
the  dust  of  fresher  battles  between  strong  and  weak.  Then 
it  was  a  significant  skirmish  in  the  eternal  conflict,  so  felt  by 
"Big  Business"  throughout  the  country,  and  therefore 
eagerly  watched  by  its  servants,  —  the  eminent  counsel, 
who  had  hastened  hither  this  winter  day  from  the  larger 
centres  of  the  country.  These  were  exchanging  greetings, 
jesting  among  themselves,  while  the  special  gladiators  of 
the  fray  consulted  apart. 

At  last  the  hand  of  the  clock  had  travelled  over  its  face 
and  pointed  to  noon.  There  was  a  hush;  the  spectators 
rose  to  their  feet  as  the  judges  filed  in  silently  and  took  their 
seats  behind  the  bench  of  high  justice.  Old  men,  these, 
demurely  robed  in  black,  —  white-haired,  bent,  fragile  old 
men.  As  they  settled  themselves  in  their  padded  chairs, 
the  clerk  droned  the  ancient  formula,  —  the  call  to  the  bar 
of  justice.  "All  who  seek  justice  of  the  Supreme  Court  of 
the  United  States  shall  now  draw  near  and  plead  their  cause." 
This  vestige  of  the  ceremonious  past  sounded  strangely  in  a 
practical  age. 

As  the  spectators  sat,  a  little  man,  stoop-shouldered  and 
gray,  took  his  place  at  the  table  in  face  of  the  Chief  Justice 
and  cleared  his  throat.  A  justice  leisurely  wiped  his  glasses, 
and  with  a  long  bony  finger  dipped  into  the  pages  of  the 
voluminous  brief.  In  those  six  fat  volumes  of  briefs  and  in 
the  ponderous  "record"  of  the  case  in  the  lower  courts  may 
be  found  the  minute  chronicle  of  this  celebrated  cause,  dead 


"LIFE,   LIBERTY,   PURSUIT   OF  HAPPINESS "     221 

and  dusty  already,  full  of  affidavit  and  citation,  testimony 
and  points  of  law.  The  tale  lies  buried  there  in  a  flood  of 
language,  a  tangled  maze  of  detail.  .  .  . 

"I  hope,"  whispered  a  little  woman  at  Hugh's  elbow, 
"that  Fred  got  a  bite  of  something  —  a  cup  of  coffee  any 
way!"  She  must  be  wife,  sister,  or  friend  of  the  stoop- 
shouldered  lawyer  now  addressing  the  court  in  halting 
periods. 

"I'm  sure  he'll  do  well!"  her  friend  replied,  encouragingly. 

The  little  man  was  telling  the  story  of  the  great  power 
company,  revealing  its  origin,  its  growth,  its  methods,  —  a 
story  in  which  Hugh  recognized  his  own  small  part. 

"So,  your  honors,"  he  was  saying,  "these  men  with  un 
limited  power  of  capital  are  stealthily,  secretly  reaching  out, 
here,  there,  getting  their  hands  upon  these  precious  proper 
ties,  with  cunning,  fraud."  .  .  . 

Thomas  Talbot,  the  tips  of  his  plump  fingers  meeting, 
leaned  back  in  his  chair,  listening  to  the  fervid  pleading  of 
his  opponent,  a  little  smile  of  irony  and  content  on  his  placid 
face,  as  if  he  were  saying,  "Come  now,  —  you  don't 
really  believe  that!  It's  for  effect!"  Now  and  then  one  of 
the  old  men  on  the  bench  opened  his  eyes  and  asked  a  ques 
tion.  The  spectators  within  the  little  room  became  restless, 
pushing  back  and  forth  through  the  swinging  doors,  and  the 
gray-haired  lawyer  stammered  on,  his  halting  periods  coming 
forth  more  laboredly,  as  if  he  were  conscious  of  losing  ground, 
seeking  desperately  to  phrase  in  a  few  words  the  whole  long 
story  of  fraud  and  trickery  that  he  had  carefully  unravelled, 
trying  to  convince  these  remote  old  men  of  the  hot  reason 
within  him  for  doing  justice.  The  little  man  seemed  to 
have  taken  his  cause  to  heart. 

"It's  a  great  speech!"  said  one  of  the  women  beside 
Hugh  to  the  other. 

But  across  the  room  some  women  in  furs  were  chatting 


222  A   LIFE  FOR  A   LIFE 

with  one  of  Talbot's  assistants  and  laughing.  One  with 
cap  and  coat  of  a  striped  fur  that  made  her  look  like  a  lithe 
animal  waved  her  muff  in  a  little  gesture  of  mockery, 
mimicking  the  tense  gesture  of  the  speaking  lawyer.  As  she 
dropped  her  arm,  Hugh  saw  her  face,  rosy  and  laughing, 
tipped  with  fur.  It  was  Alexandra.  She  had  come  to  wit 
ness  the  legal  battle.  A  dark  man  with  fine  features  leaned 
forward  and  said  something  that  made  her  laugh. 

Hugh  knew  they  were  making  merry  over  the  passionate 
plea.  "If  your  honors  please,"  stammered  the  lawyer.  But 
their  honors  did  not  please.  One  sharply  interrupted  the 
laboring  pleader,  with  a  question  that  broke  his  story  clearly 
in  two,  waving  his  point  aside  as  irrelevant.  Talbot  turned, 
broadly  smiling,  and  looked  at  a  distinguished  colleague 
seated  behind  him.  A  sleek  Senator  who  had  been  standing 
before  the  door  went  out.  It  was  the  straw  that  showed 
the  mind  of  the  court.  The  hour  to  be  consumed  by  the 
counsel  for  the  government  was  nearly  at  an  end,  and  while 
the  little  gray-haired  man  gesticulated  with  clenched  fist 
and  stammered,  the  judges  on  the  bench  seemingly  had  lapsed 
into  sleep. 

"Is  it  law  or  equity  you  are  discussing?"  demanded  a 
lean  justice,  irritably  unclosing  his  eyes. 

There  was  a  murmur  of  suppressed  merriment  among  the 
lawyers  over  the  discomfiture  of  the  pleader.  Shortly 
thereafter,  with  a  despairing  period  about  "this  injustice 
to  be  perpetrated  upon  unborn  generations,"  the  People 
rested  their  case. 

Then  more  spectators  tried  to  enter  the  crowded  room, 
word  having  gone  forth  that  the  real  argument  was  about 
to  begin.  Thomas  Talbot  took  the  place  at  the  plaintiff's 
desk  in  face  of  the  judges,  and  with  a  deprecatory  move 
ment  of  the  palms  of  his  hand  began  in  a  mellow,  liquid 
voice,  —  that  tone  of  cultivated  reasonableness  with  which 


"LIFE,   LIBERTY,   PURSUIT   OF  HAPPINESS"     223 

he  had  defended  philosophical  idealism  against  the  material 
ists  in  his  talk  with  Hugh. 

"If  your  honors  please!" 

A  thrill  of  expectant  attention  ran  through  the  crowded 
room.  At  last  the  play  had  begun!  Alexandra  leaned 
forward,  resting  her  furs  upon  the  bench  before  her.  Her 
lips  were  parted  in  that  little  smile  Hugh  remembered  so 
well,  the  little  smile  of  eager  interest  in  the  coming  thing. 

With  a  gesture  of  the  open  palms  which  seemed  to  say, 
"You  see,  your  honors,  how  simple  this  matter  really  is!" 
Talbot  tossed  in  his  fine  irony  that  unlucky  last  cry  of  his 
opponent.  "We  are  not  here,"  said  the  learned  Talbot, 
"to  try  a  case  for  'unborn  generations';  we  are  concerned 
with  the  present,  and  with  the  laws  that  govern  that  present ! 
What  is  that  law?"  With  the  thrust  of  this  demand  he 
plunged  at  once  into  the  constitutional  argument.  Those 
judges  who  had  listened  to  the  opening  plea  with  shut  eyes, 
as  if  mummies,  sat  forward  upon  their  chairs  in  absorbed 
attention.  At  last  the  question  was  to  be  presented  to  them 
in  the  guise  in  which  they  could  recognize  it.  Talbot's 
plump  little  figure  dilated  with  bursting  energy;  the  palms 
of  his  hands  flashed  upwards  in  their  deprecatory  gesture. 
"You  see,  your  honors,  the  point  is  this,  not  that  old  wives' 
tale  of  wrong  and  abuse  of  power!"  The  strain  of  attention 
became  breathless  as  he  wound  rapidly  into  his  contentions. 
It  was  a  great  speech,  a  superb  legal  argument,  and  as  he 
proceeded  the  conviction  filled  the  room  like  a  wave  of  ether 
that  the  case  was  being  won  —  for  the  power  company. 
No  matter  what  it  had  done,  that  law  under  which  it  had 
been  tried  and  found  guilty  in  the  lower  court  must  be  de 
clared  void  by  this,  the  highest  tribunal  of  all.  Thus  the 
rapid  fire  of  Talbot's  irreproachable  logic  demolished  the 
emotional  defence  of  the  people's  cause. 

Hugh,  unmindful  of  the  querulous  remarks  of  the  woman 


224  A  LIFE  FOR  A   LIFE 

next  him,  unmindful  of  the  brilliant  face  across  the  room, 
absorbed  in  Talbot's  relentless  logic,  knew  that  the  power 
case  was  won  —  and  lost.  Fraud  there  might  be,  monopoly, 
doubtless;  injustice  and  oppression,  perhaps.  "But  the 
plaintiffs  must  find  relief,  if  relief  be  needed,  under  the 
common  law/'  The  law  was  such  and  so  —  feeble  human 
device  of  words  with  dubious  meanings  to  restrain  the  pas 
sions  and  regulate  the  rights  of  men! 

"The  guarantees  of  the  Constitution,"  the  lawyer  was 
saying,  his  rich  voice  rolling  up  to  the  ceiling  as  he  pro 
nounced  the  magic  words.  "The  plaintiffs  would  confiscate 
Property!"  It  was  as  clear  as  the  sunlight  falling  across 
the  bench  of  high  justice,  as  clear  as  the  bony  face  of  the 
old  judge  on  the  extreme  right,  what  the  decree  of  the  court 
must  be.  As  the  peroration  of  the  great  argument  swelled 
forth,  Hugh  caught  sight  of  Senator  Dexter  in  the  press  of 
congressmen  who  had  crowded  in  for  the  fall  of  the  curtain 
on  the  celebrated  case.  A  little  smile  rippled  over  his  sar 
donic  lips.  He  was  leaning  against  the  screen,  his  hands 
clasped  behind  his  back,  and  his  sharp  eyes  travelled  up  and 
down  the  bench  as  though  to  assure  himself  of  the  result, 
then  fell  upon  the  face  of  Alexandra,  and  his  smile  broadened 
perceptibly  in  answer  to  her  triumphant  nod.  Their  side 
had  "made  good"!  To  Hugh  it  seemed  that  he  had  been 
wafted  back  to  the  game  in  the  meadow  beside  the  river 
years  before,  and  immediately  a  dumb  protest  rose  in 
the  heart  of  the  man  as  it  had  risen  then  in  the  heart  of  the 
youth,  —  a  dumb,  unreasoned  protest  against  the  winning 
side.  .  .  . 

And  yet  it  was  the  law!  The  old  men  upon  the  bench, 
with  aged  faces,  remote,  removed  from  the  passions  and  the 
interests  of  ordinary  men,  would  render  the  decree  accord 
ing  to  the  principles  of  law,  as  nearly  as  any  human  minds 
could  do  so.  No  doubt  of  that,  no  question  of  the  rectitude 


"LIFE,   LIBERTY,   PURSUIT  OF  HAPPINESS"     225 

and  the  dignity  of  these  human  instruments  in  declaring 
what  is  the  law.  But  suddenly  in  the  mind  of  this  one 
man  sounded  insistently  the  question,  —  is  the  law  all  ? 
Is  there  not  a  vaster  realm,  the  realm  of  human  justice, 
altogether  beyond  the  law? 

"Life,  liberty,  and  the  pursuit  of  happiness."  .  .  .  Talbot 
was  finally  rounding  to  his  oratorical  close,  permitting  him 
self  a  few  of  those  mouth-filling  phrases  that  he  usually  dis 
dained.  "The  right  of  men  to  do  with  their  own  what  they 
will,"  he  dared  throw  out,  "the  right  of  ability  to  reap  its 
abundant  reward,  —  'tis  the  corner-stone  of  our  liberties, 
not  to  be  lightly  legislated  from  us  by  irresponsible  and 
envious  men!  .  .  .  We  move,  your  honors,  therefore,  etc." 
The  great  case  of  the  people  against  the  Rainbow  Falls  Power 
Company  et  al.  was  at  an  end. 

Hugh  sat  on  in  a  trance,  not  heeding  the  applausive  mur 
mur  in  the  courtroom  as  admiring  counsel  gathered  about 
Thomas  Talbot,  rendering  the  homage  of  mind  to  mind. 
With  the  final  periods  of  this  fine  intellect  there  had  been 
severed  the  bond  that  had  bound  Hugh  to  the  power  com 
pany,  in  whose  service  he  had  made  his  career.  That,  too, 
had  been  decided. 

It  was  as  simple,  this  process,  as  the  bar  of  sunshine  fall 
ing  over  the  empty  seat  of  the  chief  justice.  Talbot  had 
convinced  him  what  must  be  his  way,  as  doubtless  he  had 
convinced  the  court  what  was  the  law. 

It  comes  to  men  in  diverse  times  and  places,  —  the  light 
for  their  souls.  It  comes  in  the  dim  mystery  of  cathedral 
aisles,  upon  crowded  city  streets,  in  the  silence  of  deep  forests 
upon  the  mountains,  at  night  within  their  beds.  It  comes 
in  fierce  strife,  in  lonely  meditation  —  the  light,  the  truth 
for  them.  It  came  to  Hugh  Grant  here  in  the  crowded  court 
room,  it  rang  in  the  mellow  voice  of  agile  jurisprudence,  — 
HIS  light,  after  groping  in  darkness,  the  light  he  had  searched 
for. 


226  A   LIFE  FOR  A   LIFE 

At  last  he  rose  from  the  bench  in  the  nearly  empty  court 
room  and  stumbled  toward  the  entrance  unseeing,  unmind 
ful  of  the  laughter  and  the  voices  from  the  little  group  draw 
ing  near  the  door.  As  he  passed  behind  the  screen  a  hand 
was  laid  lightly  on  his  arm,  and  he  looked  up  into  the  eyes 
of  Alexandra,  —  those  laughing,  triumphant  eyes  that  had 
exchanged  glances  with  the  Senator.  He  had  forgotten  her 
existence. 

"Will  you  speak  to  me?"  she  exclaimed  with  friendly 
imperiousness.  "I  have  been  beckoning  to  you  and  calling 
to  you,  but  you  seem  lost  in  a  maze." 

Senator  Dexter,  who  was  talking  with  the  dark  young  man 
that  had  been  seated  beside  Alexandra,  now  turned  his 
shrewd  eyes  on  Hugh.  He  was  saying :  — 

"Yes,  it  was  a  great  argument,  Baron." 

Alexandra,  catching  the  phrase  from  the  Senator's  lips, 
repeated  brightly  to  Hugh:— 

"It  was  a  great  argument!" 

"Yes,"  he  assented,  "it  was  no  doubt  a  great  argument." 

"It  settles  that,"  the  Senator  was  saying. 

His  shrewd  eyes  twinkled  as  he  stroked  his  mustache 
with  the  air  of  one  for  whom  these  little  affairs  no  longer 
had  anything  momentous,  of  one  who  had  lived  so  long  be 
hind  the  scenes  that  his  only  pleasure  was  the  effect  of  the 
outer  show  upon  less  informed  persons  like  Alexandra  and 
the  foreign  nobleman. 

Talbot  was  talking  with  Alexandra's  companion,  a  young 
woman  with  a  full,  sensuous  face,  clothed  from  head  to  foot 
in  a  garment  of  superb  fur.  The  soft  fingers  of  her  un 
gloved  hand  were  covered  with  jewels  that  sparkled  as  she 
gracefully  gesticulated. 

"The  Countess  Gervana,"  Alexandra  murmured  to  Hugh, 
indicating  her  companion,  "wife  of  the  Hungarian  am 
bassador —  charming  creature!  That  is  her  brother,  Baron 


"LIFE,   LIBERTY,   PURSUIT  OF  HAPPINESS''      227 

Sez — "  Hugh  lost  the  name.  The  Baron,  a  man  with 
mobile  lips  and  self-possessed  carriage,  was  saying  in  reply 
to  the  Senator's  remarks:  — 

"Yes,  I  find,  it  all  very  interesting."  But  he  was  looking 
at  Alexandra  with  quiet  persistence.  .  .  . 

As  they  moved  down  the  crowded  corridor  toward  the 
Senate  wing,  the  old  soldier,  with  the  little  lad  still  dragging 
wearily  at  his  hand,  passed  them,  and  the  child's  voice  urged 
plaintively,  "I  don't  want  to  see  any  more!"  .  .  . 

"It  was  a  great  case,"  Alexandra  repeated  idly,  her  eyes 
restlessly  wandering  from  one  face  to  another,  even  out  to 
the  passers-by,  as  if  ever  seeking  something  of  glowing  interest 
that  she  might  catch.  "It  was  a  superb  argument!"  she 
added  to  the  lawyer. 

"Oh,  it  was  all  as  plain  as  a  pikestaff,"  Talbot  purred 
deprecatingly.  "It  hardly  needed  argument." 

Such  was  the  verdict  of  authority. 


XXIII 

THE   BRONZE  IMAGE 

THE  sun  was  declining  goldenly  over  the  fair  city  as  they 
came  out  of  the  Capitol  under  the  granite  portico.  Talbot 
glanced  at  his  watch,  saying:  — 

"Here  I  must  leave  you  to  get  my  train.  Coming  back 
to  the  City,  Grant?" 

Hugh,  roused  from  the  revery  into  which  he  had  again 
lapsed,  shook  his  head.  He  had  no  distinct  idea  of  imme 
diate  action,  but  in  the  mood  in  which  he  found  himself  he 
desired  only  to  be  alone,  not  the  travel  companion  of  the 
genial  Talbot. 

"Well,  I  must  be  in  the  City  to-morrow,"  the  lawyer  said, 
and  with  a  cordial  smile,  his  noble  head  bobbing  on  his  fat 
neck,  trotted  off  on  his  way,  holding  his  little  bag  tightly  in 
one  hand.  That  bag  contained  "The  City  of  God/7  as 
Hugh  might  recall.  It  also  contained  a  box  of  excellent 
cigars,  a  catalogue  of  rare  books,  and  a  letter  from  a  nursery 
firm  concerning  bulbs  and  shrubs  that  this  disciple  of  philo 
sophical  idealism  would  buy  for  his  river  "farm." 

The  Senator  captured  the  countess  and  her  brother,  and 
Hugh  found  himself  before  a  panting  car,  into  which  Alex 
andra  stepped,  indicating  the  seat  beside  her. 

"I'll  show  you  something  of  this  lovely  city,"  she  said. 
"I  want  to  talk  with  you." 

He  took  the  seat  and  wrapped  the  heavy  fur  robe  about 
him,  his  mind  still  in  the  grip  of  conviction  that  had  seized 

228 


THE  BRONZE  IMAGE  229 

him  in  the  courtroom.  For  the  first  time  he  was  scarcely 
conscious  of  the  woman  at  his  side.  He  did  not  know  the 
rumors  of  the  gossipping  capital  that  the  daughter  of  Alex 
ander  Arnold  had  already  accepted  the  suit  of  the  Baron, 
deftly  furthered  by  his  sister.  Even  had  Alexandra  herself 
confirmed  this  gossip,  it  would  have  made  slight  impression 
upon  him  to-day  —  another  unreality  in  a  world  of  shifting 
shadows. 

Alexandra  lightly  designated  the  beautiful  vista  before 
them  as  the  car  descended  the  hill. 

"I  want  to  talk  to  you,"  she  repeated.  "I  was  watching 
your  face  this  afternoon  after  I  discovered  that  you  were 
there.  And  I  could  not  understand  it.  Were  you  not 
pleased  —  it  must  mean  so  much  to  you!"  she  concluded 
bluntly. 

"Talbot  made  a  great  argument,"  he  repeated  mechanically. 

"Senator  Dexter  said  that  the  court  must  render  a  favor 
able  decision." 

"No  doubt." 

She  gave  him  a  puzzled  glance. 

"Was  there  ever  any  doubt  of  the  outcome?"  he  added, 
as  though  to  himself. 

"Then  you  should  be  pleased!" 

But  he  neither  smiled  nor  spoke. 

"I  love  to  see  strong  men  use  their  minds,"  she  continued 
vivaciously.  "That's  the  extraordinary  interest  of  this 
place.  There  are  always  so  many  brilliant  men  here,  — 
men  who  do  things." 

"And  you  love  above  all  else  'men  who  do  things.'" 

"Of  course!  Here  you  can  watch  them  work,  instead  of 
seeing  only  the  results,  as  in  the  City." 

She  hummed  a  little  air  to  herself  while  the  car  shot  over 
the  smooth  pavements. 

A  company  of  troops  clattered  past  in  dress  uniform,  and 


230  A  LIFE  FOR  A    LIFE 

in  the  usual  drab  stream  of  wayfarers  on  the  pavements 
appeared  officers  and  strange,  foreign  figures.  From  passing 
cars  flashed  forth  the  faces  of  young  women  and  fine-featured 
men  in  fur  coats.  Whatever  sparkle  could  be  got  from 
democracy  was  to  be  seen  here  where  the  new  land  touched 
old  ones. 

Alexandra  nodded  and  tossed  greetings  hither  and  thither. 
She  pointed  out  notable  houses  along  the  avenues. 

"  That's  Senator  Dyer's — the  big  colonial  one  on  the  corner, 
and  on  the  opposite  side  is  the  Hungarian  ambassador's." 

Before  the  stone  steps  carriages  and  cars  were  drawn  up 
in  file. 

"I  should  be  there,"  she  said  lightly.  "But  we  will  go 
on  into  the  country.  There  is  time  —  plenty  of  time!" 

They  whirled  up  a  little  hill,  past  a  large  new  stone  house 
that  was  set  somewhat  apart  from  its  smaller  neighbors. 

"Where  we  live,"  she  said.  "It  looks  as  if  it  had  been 
taken  bodily  from  the  Champs  Elyse'es,  doesn't  it?  " 

Her  face,  warmly  pressed  by  the  striped  furs,  glowed  with 
the  wind  of  their  motion,  and  her  brilliant  eyes  glanced  now 
here,  now  there,  in  quick,  expectant  search. 

"See!"  She  pointed  to  a  broad  field  beside  the  river. 
"The  flying  machines!" 

An  ugly  winged  monster  rose  into  the  air,  turned  and 
circled  the  plain  a  few  feet  above  the  earth. 

"How  I  should  like  to  try  that!  A  Frenchman  promised 
to  take  me  up  some  day.  It  must  be  the  most  wonderful 
thing  in  life  —  flying." 

While  the  car  shot  on  to  the  hills  beyond  the  city  which 
sparkled  in  places  with  snow,  she  talked  of  the  "men  who 
did  things,"  whom  she  knew, — government  officials,  cabinet 
officers,  diplomats,  senators,  —displaying  a  ready  knowledge 
of  this  new  life  which  she  had  grasped  as  she  had  grasped 
all  in  her  varied  path. 


THE  BRONZE   IMAGE  231 

"It  is  so  stimulating,  —  so  full  of  life!" 

He  made  no  remark. 

The  car  stopped  on  the  wooded  crest  of  a  hill  beyond  the 
city.  Below,  the  river  wound  in  a  great  sweeping  curve 
between  them  and  the  Virginia  hills.  The  brilliant  winter 
sun  in  its  setting  fell  athwart  the  severe  shaft  of  the  monu 
ment,  flooding  the  field  where  the  flying  machine  circled. 
Nearer  were  the  peopled  hills,  and  just  below  in  a  grove  of 
ancient  oaks  an  old  mansion  faced  the  city.  It  was  Senator 
Dexter's  place,  as  Alexandra  explained.  Here  he  retired 
from  the  cares  of  state  and  cultivated  his  lovely  garden. 

"He's  so  unlike  what  the  public  thinks,"  she  said,  with 
the  air  of  superior  insight;  "a  very  simple  man,  really." 

She  had  loosened  her  furs  and  leaned  forward,  resting  her 
face  upon  her  hands,  contemplating  the  beautiful  scene  of 
hill  and  city  and  river,  a  smile  of  unappeased  zest  upon  her 
face.  Thus  they  sat  silently  for  some  moments,  absorbed  in 
the  view. 

Already  the  presence  of  this  woman  by  his  side,  rich, 
abundant,  sensuous,  with  her  mobile  joy  in  all  living,  had 
penetrated  the  man  like  incense,  —  clouding  the  clear  light 
of  the  afternoon  in  which  the  voice  of  justice  had  spoken 
within  him. 

"So,"  she  said  softly  after  a  time,  "you  were  not  content 
with  your  victory!" 

"It  was  not  mine." 

"You  can  make  it  yours!" 

She  turned  swiftly  on  him  with  provoking  suggestion. 

"I  could  make  it  mine?" 

"The  men  here  are  the  ones  who  have  made  the  most  of 
such  victories." 

"Yes,"  he  assented,  with  a  smile  for  the  memory  of  the 
victory  beside  the  river,  "the  strong  win!" 

"Senator  Dexter  was  a  clerk  in  a  store,  they  say." 


232  A   LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

"That  must  have  been  long  ago." 

"The  pace  is  faster  now." 

"And  the  prizes  greater." 

After  another  silence  she  said  lightly :  — 

"You  must  stay  over  for  my  party,  Monday  week  —  it  is 
to  be  very  grand.  You  will  see  the  whole  show." 

"I  leave  to-night!"  he  replied  quickly.  "I  have  seen  — 
the  show." 

"Why  do  you  leave?  What  is  it?"  Her  dancing  eyes 
contracted,  and  the  warmth  faded  from  her  vivid  face. 
She  added  in  a  low,  whispered  tone,  "Why  do  you  make 
me  like  this?  I  don't  want  to  be  serious!  You  are  too 
serious,  too  serious,  my  friend.  Take  your  life  lightly,  with 
a  smile  and  a  jest.  It  is  all  a  great  show!" 

The  man's  stern  eyes  devoured  her,  and  he  laughed  a 
toneless,  mirthless  laugh.  "Yes,  I  am  serious!  Too  serious 
for  your  world  —  I  should  not  fit." 

"I  could  make  you  love  it  —  my  world!" 

"Because  I  love  you." 

"It's  foolish  to  be  dull  and  serious.  There's  too  much 
life  going  on  —  just  get  in  and  swim!  Don't  you  feel  it  in 
the  air  ?  One  touches  the  world  here." 

"The  world!"  he  laughed  scornfully.  "Its  masters  and 
their  servants." 

"I  like  the  masters,"  she  retorted.  "They  are  the  men 
who  do  things,  the  ones  who  live!" 

"Live  at  the  expense  of  others.  .  .  .  You  did  not  under 
stand  the  meaning  behind  the  words  spoken  in  the  court 
room.  You  thought  merely  that  Talbot's  speech  was  bril 
liant,  convincing.  You  admired  his  words.  You  could  not 
see  that  they  were  a  tissue  of  verbal  evasions  to  cover  de 
cently  the  selfish  deeds  of  men." 

He  told  the  story  of  the  great  power  company  as  he  knew 
it,  and  at  the  end  she  said :  — 


THE  BRONZE  IMAGE  233 

"That  is  just  life:  the  strong  win.     They  must!" 

She  looked  at  him  defiantly,  gathering  her  furs  about  her. 
"Men  must  fight  for  something.  And  the  best  win  —  that 
is  all.  My  father  won.  I  have  lived  always  with  strong 
people,  who  could  rise  above  the  shoulders  of  the  crowd. 
They  are  leaders  because  they  cannot  help  themselves. 
They  make  life  what  it  is  for  all  of  us,  and  then  make  it 
better,  —  slowly,  —  better,  more  interesting,  more  worth 
living,  more  full  of  sensation.  They  harness  the  clouds. 
They  make  bread  for  the  rest  to  eat.  They  make  beauty, 
luxury,  power  —  all  that  I  love!".  .  . 

"And  the  man  who  wins  you  must  be  like  them?" 

Her  eyes  met  his  with  a  spark  of  fire. 

"He  must  be  a  MAN!" 

"To  be  a  man  is  to  triumph  at  the  trough." 

"Come  —  I  will  not  let  you  spoil  my  splendid  humor  this 
afternoon.  I  am  to  dine  to-night  —  with  a  man!" 

In  the  hard  glint  of  her  eyes  all  mirth  had  faded,  and  she 
had  become  at  once  the  mature  woman,  who  saw  and  judged. 

"Now  we  must  hurry  home." 

The  car  shot  down  the  curving  road  through  wooded 
ravines,  past  streams  gurgling  in  their  snowy  beds.  As  they 
touched  the  edge  of  the  city,  Alexandra  gave  the  driver  a 
direction,  and  the  car  paused  at  the  gate  of  a  cemetery. 

"There  is  a  wonderful  thing  here  you  must  see  —  a  bronze 
figure.  It  always  reminds  me  of  you!" 

She  led  the  way  in  the  falling  twilight  through  the  deserted 
paths  to  a  little  enclosure  of  dark  trees.  Stepping  within  the 
shrouded  space,  they  stood  in  face  of  the  seated  figure. 

"Look!" 

The  faint  twilight  there  behind  the  dark  trees  deepened 
the  gloom  and  the  mystery  of  the  bronze  face  beneath  its 
heavy  covering.  The  figure,  neither  man  nor  woman, 
seated  in  contemplation,  looked  through  them  and  beyond 


234  A  LIFE  FOR  A   LIFE 

into  the  gathering  night.  In  the  presence  of  that  sombre, 
seated  figure  in  silent,  perpetual  contemplation,  there  came 
to  the  man  again  that  sense  of  conviction,  —  ultimate,  in 
escapable.  .  .  .  He  stood  there  before  its  gaze,  rooted, 
forgetful  of  time. 

"How  I  hate  it,"  Alexandra  murmured,  turning  away. 
"  Hate  her,  him !  It  is  fate ! " 

"It  is  the  truth!" 

He  looked  into  the  dark  eyes  of  the  bronze  image,  and 
they  gazed  through  him,  as  if  seeking  issues  vast,  beyond. 

"No!"  the  woman  cried.  "Don't  say  it.  Not  yet!" 
And,  as  if  before  the  searching  gaze  of  the  bronze  figure, 
her  tongue  was  loosened  in  defiance,  she  spoke  rapidly, 
"I  know  you  mean  to  do  something  foolish  —  that  is  why 
you  are  going  away  to-night  ?  " 

She  laid  her  hand  upon  his  arm,  as  if  she  would  restrain 
him,  hold  him  back  from  some  irrevocable  course,  some 
parting  of  the  ways.  "Not  yet  —  wait!  You  may  not 
have  the  whole  truth!" 

He  answered  the  deep  eyes  of  the  bronze  face. 

"The  moment  comes  when  a  man  sees  all  the  truth  there 
is  for  him,  and  then  he  must  act." 

"No!"  she  protested,  turning  away,  hastily  retreating 
from  the  dark  circle.  Without  further  words  they  returned 
to  the  lighted  city.  When  the  motor  stopped  before  the 
gray  stone  house,  Alexandra  spoke  swiftly,  as  if  she  had  been 
meditating  the  words  carefully :  — 

"You  must  do  nothing  final  now  —  nothing  irrevocable 
that  will  ruin  your  life.  You  must  not  give  up  all  that  you 
have  won  — -  all  the  opportunity  you  have  —  until  — 
until—" 

He  waited. 

"Until  I  have  seen  you  again!    Promise  me." 

"I  do  not  expect  to  see  you  again." 


THE  BRONZE  IMAGE  235 

"Yes  —  my  party  —  eight  days  —  promise  me!" 
She  pleaded  as  for  herself. 
"Only  eight  days!" 

"Then  I  will  be  here!" 

He  felt  the  warm  touch  of  her  soft  hand  in  his,  binding 
his  promise.  With  a  lingering  look  she  mounted  the  steps 
of  her  father's  house,  and  disappeared  behind  the  doors. 


XXIV 

THE   TROUGH 

IN  that  basement  restaurant  where  Senator  and  tourist, 
magnate  and  newspaper  correspondent,  jostle  one  another 
for  necessary  nourishment,  Percy  Todd  was  seated  at  a 
little  table  with  the  correspondent  of  the  Daily  Judgment,  — 
one  Stott,  whose  philosophical  observations  on  the  state  of 
the  nation,  in  a  vein  of  tempered  cynicism,  delighted  the 
readers  of  his  metropolitan  paper.  To  him  a  Senator  was 
but  a  man  like  another.  He  had  seen  him  eat  chicken  pie 
and  drink  tepid  tea,  fill  pages  of  the  Record  with  windy 
eloquence,  and  vote  according  to  his  purse,  for  too  many 
years  to  retain  any  illusions.  The  country  must  be  gov 
erned,  and  somehow  it  got  governed  from  administration 
to  administration,  in  much  the  same  easy  fashion,  in  spite 
of  muttering  thunders  of  popular  disapproval.  The 
people  might  growl,  but  they  got  what  they  voted  for.  So 
in  the  case  of  this  great  tariff  bill,  which  had  slowly  wound 
itself  through  hearing  and  committee  and  was  now  at  the 
climax  of  its  fate  upon  the  floor  of  the  Senate,  the  newspaper 
man  smiled  his  languid  smile  of  "inside"  knowledge  at  the 
patriotic  frothing  of  his  younger  brethren  of  the  pen.  It  was 
always  thus  when  the  fat  came  to  the  fire  in  a  matter  like 
this,  where  the  fire  of  selfish  interest  was  hot  and  the  fat 
rich.  After  the  smoke  cleared  away  the  heavens  would  still 
be  there  and  the  sun  shining.  In  this  vein  he  entertained 
the  young  editor  of  Ambition  with  choice  scandal  con 
cerning  the  public  figures  that  crowded  into  the  marble- 
floored  room. 

236 


THE  TROUGH  237 

Percy  Todd,  ever  exhilarated  by  proximity  with  im 
portant  people,  listened,  revolving  in  his  busy  mind  another 
portrait  of  the  "  Builders  of  Empire "  series  which  had  won 
fame  for  his  venture  in  journalism.  These  articles  had 
brought  him  into  relations  of  quasi-intimacy  with  many 
prominent  persons. 

"I  have  seen  these  men  at  close  range/'  he  said  to  Stott. 
"They  have  talked  very  freely  with  me,  taken  me  into  their 
confidence,  I  may  say.  They  are  not  the  selfish,  inhuman 
machines  that  the  public  likes  to  think  them.  They  are 
patriots  in  their  way  —  and  good  fellows,  charitable,  genial, 
cultivated,  and  that's  the  way  I  have  tried  to  present  them 
—  sympathetically." 

Stott  smiled  and  nodded. 

"A  reformer,"  he  remarked  wisely,  "is  a  public  nuisance. 
He  doesn't  understand  the  game  as  it  is  played." 

"He  is  an  hysteric!"  Todd  chimed  in. 

"Isn't  that  Oliver  Whiting  with  Senator  Dexter?"  the 
newspaper  man  asked.  "I  wonder  what  he  can  be  doing 
here."  His  sense  of  news,  whetted  in  an  atmosphere  of 
closet  intrigue,  was  touched.  "Who  is  the  youngish  man 
with  them?" 

"Hugh  Grant,  —  I  know  him,  one  of  the  power  crowd." 

"Something  must  be  up,"  Stott  pronounced.  "Whiting 
represents  the  bank  crowd,  of  course;  but  usually  Dexter 
goes  to  him.  I  suppose  the  Senator  couldn't  get  away  just 
now." 

If  the  Metternich  of  the  Senate  —  as  the  newspapers  liked 
to  call  Senator  Dexter  —  had  aught  to  say  of  weighty  im 
portance  to  Oliver  Whiting,  this  surely  was  not  the  oppor 
tunity  he  would  have  chosen.  They  had  met  by  accident 
in  the  thronged  corridor  as  any  two  gentlemen  might  meet, 
and  stopped  to  chat,  unaware  of  the  excitement  they  were 
causing  the  journalists  by  their  presence. 


238  A   LIFE  FOR  A   LIFE 

" Dexter  has  got  the  votes,"  observed  the  knowing  one. 
"He  can  put  anything  through." 

"Some  of  those  schedules  are  pretty  raw,"  Todd 
ventured. 

"Oh,  yes. —  the  whole  bill  is  a  swindle,  if  you  like,  full  of 
tricks  to  deceive  the  innocent.  It's  a  compromise,  a  trade. 
Dexter  is  a  great  trader  —  that's  his  power." 

Thus  the  amateur  statesman  summed  up  the  mighty 
operations  of  government.  He  yawned  and  pushed  back  his 
chair,  saying:  — 

"That  bluffer  Dodge  is  still  filling  the  Record,  I  suppose. 
I  can't  stand  two  hours  of  his  talk  —  think  I'll  drop  back 
later." 

The  celebrated  trader  having  turned  back  up  the  cor 
ridor  arm  in  arm  with  the  bank  president,  Hugh  Grant  came 
across  the  restaurant,  looking  for  a  seat.  Todd  seized  him 
by  the  arm  and  introduced  him  to  the  journalist. 

"Come  to  see  the  trough?"   Stott  inquired  amiably. 

"The  trough?"  Hugh  inquired  a  little  vaguely.  "Yes,  I 
have  come  to  see  the  trough!" 

He  laughed,  as  if  the  common  phrase  went  deep  into  his 
mind. 

"One  doesn't  see  much  here,"  continued  the  correspondent, 
studying  his  man  with  his  trained  Washington  eye,  trying 
to  determine  where  he  should  be  placed.  "There's  more 
doing  at  the  hotels  —  or  in  the  City,"  he  suggested.  "It's 
chiefly  'saving  face'  that's  performed  here." 

"And  the  face  is  hardly  saved,"  Hugh  commented. 

"Oh,  well!"  The  journalist  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "It 
gets  into  the  Record.  It  is  just  as  well  that  the  innocent 
patriot  doesn't  see  much  of  the  process.  The  results  are  all 
that  interest  him!" 

"The  results  — yes!" 

"And  on  the  whole  the  results  are  pretty  good,"  continued 


THE  TROUGH  239 

the  journalist,  judging  it  safe  to  take  with  this  one  the  tone  of 
his  employers. 

They  talked  on  desultorily  of  people  and  politics  while 
the  little  room  gradually  emptied  itself.  Then  they  wan 
dered  through  the  bustling  corridors,  stepped  into  the  Senate 
chamber  where  the  " bluffer  Dodge"  was  haranguing  empty 
desks  with  a  fervor  worthy  a  better  audience.  Even  the 
public  galleries  were  deserted. 

"They  won't  get  busy  much  before  evening/'  the  journalist 
yawned.  He  suggested  that  they  go  to  the  great  hotel 
where  "  something  was  usually  on,"  and  Hugh  acquiesced, 
silently  listening  to  the  amiable  cynicism  of  the  correspondent. 

These  days  Washington  was  one  long  whispering  gallery, 
rumor  dancing  gayly  to  and  fro  from  committee  room  to 
hotel  parlor,  about  luncheon  tables  and  late  supper  tables, 
to  the  White  House,  to  the  distant  City,  and  back  to  the 
Capitol  itself.  The  " interests"  of  this  great  country  were 
being  harmonized  by  the  tactful  hand  of  the  master  "  trader." 
Those  celebrated  compromises  between  "wool"  and  "cotton," 
"lumber"  and  "hides,"  that  had  been  valiantly  fought  over 
were  now  at  the  point  of  accomplishment.  "Gloves"  had 
been  swapped  for  "prunes,"  and  "socks"  had  gone  down 
before  "sulphides."  Thus  step  by  step  in  little  secret 
gatherings,  over  food  and  drink,  antagonisms  about  the  plun 
der  in  the  trough  had  been  soothed,  and  the  great  work  of 
distributing  the  spoil  had  reached  its  conclusion  —  almost. 

The  cynical  Stott,  his  tongue  loosened  by  a  third  and 
fourth  refreshment  from  the  bar  of  the  hotel,  described  how 
obstinate  "sulphides"  had  been,  how  the  highest  power  had 
been  evoked  to  make  "prunes"  give  way  to  "gloves,"  how 
the  Metternich  of  the  Senate  himself  had  almost  suffered 
defeat  at  the  hands  of  "pulp."  There  were  hints  of  even 
darker  mysteries,  of  secret  midnight  journeys  to  the  City, 


240  A  LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

where  the  aid  of  great  capitalists  had  been  evoked.  Metter- 
nich  had  returned  with  an  ultimatum,  counted  his  men,  and 
now  to-day,  to-night,  this  stupendous  work  of  art  over 
which  the  legislators  of  the  nation  had  labored  for  months 
was  to  become  'LAW. 

"It  will  be  the  law,"  mused  Hugh  Grant.  "Who  made 
it?" 

"The  people  made  it,"  the  correspondent  stoutly  main 
tained.  "And  it  is  good  enough  —  as  good  as  you  can  make 
with  popular  institutions." 

"What  in  hell  is  copper  sulphides?"  Todd  inquired. 

"You  can't  please  every  one,"  Stott  insisted,  ignoring  the 
request  for  information. 

"No  —  you  can't  please  every  one  who  wants  to  feed  at 
the  trough." 

The  journalist  perceived  dimly  through  the  whiskey  blur 
of  the  late  afternoon  that  this  friend  of  Todd's  was  just 
"another  damned  idealist"  —  a  queer  one  to  travel  with  the 
power  company  crowd. 

"You  have  to  cut  the  fodder  as  best  you  can,"  he  stam 
mered.  "And  Dexter  is  as  fair  a  fellow  at  that  trick  as 
any  one  else." 

It  was  time  to  dress,  afterwards  to  repair  to  the  Capitol 
to  witness  the  last  act  of  the  grand  opera  now  beginning, 
and  after  the  curtain  was  rung  down  there  to  go  on  to 
Alexandra's  ball,  for  which  he  had  returned  to  Washington. 
Stott  took  Todd  to  his  club.  The  correspondent  had  thriftily 
prepared  "his  patter"  for  the  Daily  Judgment  in  the  fore 
noon,  sagely  predicting  in  the  quiet  of  his  office  the  course 
of  public  events.  To-morrow  one  might  read  in  that  con 
servative  metropolitan  sheet  of  the  "superior  statesmanship 
displayed  by  Senator  Dexter  in  harmonizing  the  conflicting 
interests  of  this  vast  country.".  .  . 

Meanwhile  another  man  than  the  ingenuous  patriot  who 


THE  TROUGH  241 

had  mounted  the  granite  steps  that  winter  morning  ten  days 
before  was  walking  through  the  soft  Southern  night  toward 
the  starry  dome.  He  was  going  to  see  the  will  of  his  coun 
try  expressed  in  law,  but  now  he  knew  how  law  was  made. 

He  was  waiting  —  for  what  ?  A  word  from  a  woman. 
As  if  that  could  transform  a  world!  Oliver  Whiting,  om 
nivorous  gossip,  had  given  him  the  rumor, —  "a  diplomatic 
marriage"  for  the  daughter  of  Alexander  Arnold.  "One  of 
those  black-and-tan  puppies  running  all  over  here,"  the 
banker  growled,  in  the  tone  of  one  who  also  dared  aspire. 
To-night,  in  all  probability,  it  would  be  made  clear.  And 
why  this  woman's  whim  that  he  should  be  present  at  an 
other's  triumph?  .  .  .  Even  were  it  not  true,  Oliver's 
report,  how  could  there  be  hope  for  him  ?  Since  that  moment 
when  they  had  stood  before  the  bronze  image,  the  decree  of 
his  fate  had  been  plain.  .  .  .  But  man  plays  with  himself, 
ever  cherishing  the  secret  hope  of  miracle  for  him. 

The  houses  and  the  great  public  buildings  slept  in  the 
moonlight.  Beyond  the  river  snowy  fields  reached  out  to 
distant  horizons.  All  was  now  in  repose,  except  the  lighted 
hill  of  the  Capitol,  toward  which  were  rushing  people  in  cars 
and  carriages.  There  the  fierce  activity  of  men  was  centred, 
—  the  desires,  wills,  intrigues,  compromises,  battles,  tricks, 
pretensions,  —  there  beneath  the  dome  of  the  Capitol. 

"A  system  of  enlightened  self-interest,  —  the  American 
idea,"  as  President  Butterfield  had  happily  characterized  the 
national  spirit.  Each  one  was  seeking  within  his  sphere  to 
make  the  most  of  himself,  striving  to  prevail  —  for  what  ? 
Not  for  justice,  not  for  equal  dealing  between  men,  but  for 
his  selfish  advantage  in  the  great  game  of  life,  for  self  and 
a  few  more  that  could  be  felt  as  part  of  self.  Greed,  legal 
ized,  admired,  that  was  the  "spirit  of  the  country,"  in  flower 
here  at  Washington  about  the  "  trough.".  .  . 

The  strains  of  music  from  a  military  band  came  floating 


242  A    LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

through  the  night  air,  suggesting  once  more  Alexandra  and 
the  warm  decorative  atmosphere  in  which  she  moved.  The 
notes  of  this  melodious  dance  music  roused  again  from  his 
memory  the  youthful  vision,  half  realized  upon  the  moun 
tain  heights,  —  the  vision  of  that  other  Alexandra.  And  a 
cynical,  mirthless  laugh  escaped  him  involuntarily  for  the 
childish  heart  that  could  have  expected  this  Washington  to 
be  other  than  it  was,  and  the  woman  he  adored  to  be  other 
than  she  was,  —  the  magnificent  flower  of  her  kind ! 

"Those  who  have  the  appetite  and  the  power  will  eat,"  — 
the  skilful  Metternich,  the  crafty  Arnold,  the  good  predatory 
male  such  as  a  system  of  enlightened  self-interest  must  de 
velop.  The  Game!  The  Game! 

A  soft  southerly  air  drew  in  from  the  open  country,  some 
how  foretelling  the  blossoming  springtime.  And  this  scent 
of  promised  change,  coming  over  the  hard  earth,  breathed 
that  other  power  in  man,  —  the  spirit  moving  in  him  al 
ways,  not  for  self,  but  for  some  great  harmony  within.  Even 
here  about  the  trough,  with  its  greedy  scramble  for  privilege, 
there  must  be  in  each  one  that  Something  of  the  Spirit,  — 
precious,  unquenchable,  divine.  Earth-born  men,  over 
charged  with  desires,  were  battling  for  fulfilment  of  the 
spirit  —  even  here  about  the  great  Trough. 

In  the  crowded  corridor  he  met  her,  with  a  gay  party 
corning  from  dinner  to  the  "show."  She  smiled  a  welcome 
as  to  one  expected  just  there,  and  swept  him  in  her  train 
to  the  diplomatic  gallery  where  the  performance  was  to  be 
viewed  from  reserved  seats. 

"No  long  face  to-night,  wanderer!"  she  flashed  to  him. 
"You  will  come  back  with  us  —  to-night,  to-night!"  she 
sang,  as  if  much  were  to  happen  at  this  particular  point  of 
time.  An  ambassador  was  at  her  side;  a  Senator  excused 
himself  for  his  duties.  She  was  suffused  with  excitement, 


THE  TROUGH  243 

having  the  woman's  triumph  of  affecting  by  her  loveliness 
these  strong  males  "who  do  things "!  She  sat  between  the 
ambassador  and  that  " black-and-tan  puppy"  to  which,  ac 
cording  to  rumor,  she  would  give  herself  —  irrevocably.  .  .  . 

And  so  they  took  their  places  in  the  Senate  gallery,  as  they 
might  take  their  box  at  the  opera.  The  performance  had 
already  begun;  the  dull  preliminaries  of  this  last  struggle  had 
been  already  fulfilled.  When  they  entered  Senator  Dexter 
was  on  his  feet,  defending  in  his  piping  high  voice,  which  had 
the  ring  of  intellectual  superciliousness,  that  particular  trade 
whereby  "wool"  had  benefited  at  the  expense  of  "pulp." 

"Your  Senator,  il  est  beau!"  exclaimed  the  English  wife 
of  a  French  attache",  who  happened  to  be  placed  near  Hugh. 

The  Senator  was  worn  by  the  three  months'  wrangle  over 
the  bill;  he  was  pale  and  thin,  and  the  distinguished,  intel 
lectual  face  was  gray  in  tone.  His  replies  to  the  rebellious 
Senators  who  assailed  the  bill  as  a  whole  or  in  part  were 
sharp  and  acid.  "Every  one  knows,"  he  seemed  to  say, 
"that  the  matter  is  settled.  You  are  talking  to  ' save  face ' ! " 
In  his  manner  was  the  insolence  of  assured  triumph. 

"How  you  Americans  ennoble  trade!"  the  diplomat's  wife 
remarked.  "With  you  it  is  statesmanship,  war!" 

"Yes,"  Hugh  replied,  "it  is  hell." 

The  pretty  woman  looked  at  him,  and  shrugged  her 
shoulders.  But  Hugh,  absorbed  in  the  scene  before  him, 
thinking  of  all  the  unseen  elements  in  this  final  act,  —  the 
trickery,  chicanery,  selfish  greed,  the  trades,  the  improper 
influences  brought  to  bear  by  the  "noble  princes  of  com 
merce"  to  swell  prospective  profits, — had  little  thought  of 
the  elegant  person  at  his  side.  He  was  waiting  for  some 
thing.  Would  it  end  here  to-night,  like  a  mean  farce,  this 
shameful  scramble  about  the  national  trough,  or  would  some 
one  of  those  gentlemen  at  their  desks  below,  some  member  of 
this  august  body  of  highest  power  where  the  national  will  got 


244  A  LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

itself  expressed,  arise  and  utter  one  word  of  truth?  .  .  . 
Would  the  voice  of  the  people  be  heard  about  this  matter, 
[  once?  There  were  growls  from  an  impotent  minority,  even 
from  within  the  party  itself,  protests  against  certain  schedules. 
A  Senator  from  the  South  bitterly  inveighed  against  the 
treatment  accorded  "copper  sulphides,"  which  it  seemed 
was  dear  to  the  pockets  of  his  people.  But  the  parliamentary 
steps  went  forward  irrevocably  to  their  conclusion,  debate 
being  limited.  It  was  a  party  measure,  of  that  party  which 
was  overwhelmingly  in  power,  of  that  party  which  tradi 
tionally  for  generations  had  represented  the  property  classes 
of  the  country.  It  was  a  party  measure,  and  the  country 
was  wearily  waiting  for  the  expected  to  happen.  Debate 
was  useless.  .  .  .  Thus  the  play  progressed  to  its  climax, 
with  a  spurt  of  fire  here  and  there,  sufficient  to  keep  per 
sonal  warmth  in  the  formal  proceedings. 

Then  the  voice  came.  A  Senator  from  one  of  the  new 
states,  a  rugged,  homely  man,  in  striking  contrast  with  the 
elegant  Metternich,  had  risen.  Suddenly  the  conversational 
tone  of  the  chamber  was  hushed.  That  indescribable  silence 
descended  which  indicates  human  attention  to  something 
of  passionate  truth. 

"This  bill  is  an  act  of  intolerable  injustice!  You  Sena 
tors  from  old  states  do  not  understand  your  country, 
the  whole  big  country!  You  listen  to  the  greedy  voices 
of  the  few.  This  act  is  designed  not  to  protect  the 
wage-earner,  not  to  provide  the  nation  with  the  neces 
sary  means  for  self-development,  but  to  swell  the  fortunes 
of  the  few  already  fabulously  large,  —  to  enable  capital 
to  take  still  larger  toll  from  the  multitude.  ...  But 
let  me  tell  you  that  the  people  of  this  country,  of  which 
you  are  profoundly  ignorant,  think!  Yes,  the  common  man 
thinks — thinks  slowly,  but  surely.  And  he  knows  that  his 
life  is  being  taxed  from  him,  the  fruit  of  his  toil;  that  he  and 


THE  TROUGH  245 

his  children  are  paying  for  the  prosperity,  the  luxury  of  you 
and  your  children.  It  is  a  few  cents  here  and  there. 
But  every  article  that  he  must  use  is  taxed.  His  clothes, 
his  implements,  his  food,  his  few  luxuries,  his  many  necessi 
ties,  —  they  are  all  taxed.  You  are  taking  his  life  blood 
and  that  of  his  wife  and  children,  in  order  that  you  may  add 
to  the  enjoyments  of  your  lives.  He  is  giving  his  life  for 
yours.  ...  It  is  a  life  for  a  life,  gentlemen." 

Senator  Dexter  had  been  shuffling  some  papers  during 
this  speech,  and  now  looked  up  with  a  little  smile.  The 
speaker  turned  upon  him  as  the  one  personally  responsible 
for  the  evil  deed  and  repeated,  "Yes,  a  life  for  a  life! 
And  how  long  do  you  expect  that  the  common,  the 
average,  the  little  man  will  submit  to  give  his  life  for  yours?" 

The  pretty  woman  beside  Hugh  moved  restlessly.  She 
was  becoming  bored  by  this  prolonged  talk  about  "busi 
ness,"  impatient  for  the  final  roll-call  that  would  release 
them  for  the  ball.  Hugh's  hands  were  gripping  the  velvet 
rail  in  tense  feeling.  Every  word  of  the  bitter  protest  left 
its  mark  upon  him.  "A  life  for  a  life! "  That  phrase  roused 
strange  echoes  within  his  memory. 

He  caught  the  interested  face  of  Alexandra  looking  down 
upon  the  scene.  She  was  intelligent  enough  to  understand 
the  meaning  of  the  hot  protest,  but  she  knew  also  the  sophis 
ticated  counter-arguments.  Her  face  expressed  that  indif 
ferent  tolerance  of  the  experienced  one,  listening  to  futile 
talk  about  a  "thing  already  judged."  It  was  the  plaint  of 
the  defeated,  the  unsuccessful,  —  all  the  "others."  There 
was  a  curve  of  mildly  supercilious  scorn  to  her  beautiful 
mouth.  .  .  . 

There  followed  a  scorching  arraignment  of  the  methods 
pursued  in  making  the  bill.  .  .  .  "Abominable  bargains 
...  an  act  designed  in  fraud!"  .  .  . 

And  all  this  about  a  few  cents  here  and  there,  disgusting 


246  A  LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

money  matters,  the  petty  concern  for  profits,  —  so  the  pretty 
woman  at  Hugh's  right  seemed  to  say,  fretting  at  the  delay. 
At  last  the  hoarse,  passionate  voice  died  away,  and  the  thin, 
colorless  tones  of  the  majority  leader  could  be  heard  putting 
the  formal  motions.  The  bill  at  last  was  on  its  way.  And 
almost  before  it  could  be  realized,  the  thing  was  done,  the 
last  roll-call  taken,  the  wishes  of  "the  right  sort"  engraved 
in  law!  "Copper  sulphides,"  "wool,"  "iron,"  "lumber," 
etc.,  etc.,  were  "adjusted."  ...  A  nation  of  "business" 
had  performed  its  great  task,  —  the  division  of  the 
spoils.  .  .  . 

There  was  confusion  below  in  the  chamber,  Senators 
standing  and  talking  in  groups  about  the  triumphant  leader. 
Grant  caught  Alexandra's  eyes  resting  upon  them,  with  a 
pleased  smile  on  her  lips.  This  was  "doing  things." 

"Now  for  the  ball!"  exclaimed  the  little  Englishwoman, 
once  more  animated.  The  galleries  emptied,  talking,  laugh 
ing,  chattering  parties  slowly  drifting  outward  to  the  lobby. 
Most  of  the  attendants  at  the  play  were  bound  for  the 
same  destination,  —  the  great  ball  to  be  given  by  Alex 
ander  Arnold  for  his  daughter. 

Hugh  became  separated  from  his  party  in  the  confusion. 
A  light  snow  had  begun  to  fall,  through  which  gleamed  the 
gayly  lighted  city  like  an  enormous  Christmas  tree  ablaze. 
The  voices  had  a  merry  tinkle,  and  the  movement  of  wheels 
was  deadened  by  the  snow.  In  the  drift  of  the  throng 
Hugh  came  upon  a  shabby  figure  leaning  against  the  stone 
parapet,  his  hat  pulled  over  his  eyes,  in  contemplation  of 
the  crowd  of  handsomely  dressed  men  and  women  who  were 
moving  forth  from  the  Capitol  on  their  pleasure  errands. 
Something  in  the  slouching  figure  arrested  his  attention. 
The  man  put  out  a  hand  and  touched  him  on  the  shoulder. 

"Been  to  the  great  show?" 

"  You  —  Wether ed !    What  are  you  doing  here  ?  " 


XXV 

THE  FEAST  OF  THE  PLUNDERERS 

"YES,  I,  too,  have  come  to  Washington/'  the  Anarch 
replied.     "I  am  here  as  one  of  the  forgotten  multitude, — 
the  People  who  must  pay  the  piper.  .  .  .     The  common 
millions  do  not  seem  to  have  much  voice  in  these  proceedings. 
But  at  least  they  may  look  on  at  the  farce!" 

Grant  was  silent.  Wethered's  eager  eye  glanced  past 
him  to  the  gay  crowd  departing  from  the  Capitol,  as  if  he 
would  not  let  one  element  of  the  spectacle  escape  his  mordant 
humor. 

"But  what  are  you  doing  here?"  he  demanded,  noting 
the  careful  attire  of  the  other.  "What  is  your  line  in  Wash 
ington?  Lumber  or  coal  or  hides  or  cottons?" 

"I,  too,  am  a  looker-on,"  Hugh  replied,  laughing.  "I  am 
still  at  the  lesson  you  tried  to  teach  me  when  I  first  came 
to  the  City.  And,"  he  added  more  gravely,  "I  have  nearly 
learned  it!" 

"It  is  time,  —  a  dozen  years  and  more  you  have  been 
reading  the  text.     Meanwhile  you  have  made  your  winning, 
I  gather.     You  have  about  you  the  marks  of  the  plunderer, 
-  you  are  clean,  well  fed,  well  dressed." 

The  broad  avenue  was  filled  with  equipages  of  those 
bound  upon  errands  of  pleasure,  racing  back  to  the  city 
from  the  Capitol.  Hugh  pointed  to  the  long  line  of  motors, 
each  with  its  cargo  of  men  and  women  in  evening  dress. 

"There  seem  to  be  many  others  who  have  the  marks!" 

"It  is   a  prosperous   country!    Of   course.     Because   we 

247 


248  A   LIFE  FOR  A   LIFE 

make  a  few  hundred  millionaires,  a  few  thousand  more  who 
can  dine  every  night  in  evening  clothes.  .  .  .  Come  with 
me  to-night  on  a  little  journey,  and  I  will  complete  your 
education.  I  will  show  you  the  process  of  prosperity.  I 
will  show  you  luxury  in  the  making.  Will  you  come?" 

"  I  have  an  engagement  — 

"I  know!  You  are  on  the  way  to  the  Awiolds'  ball,  like 
most  of  these.  Do  you  expect  to  complete  your  man's 
education  there?" 

"Perhaps!" 

"From  the  lips  of  a  woman?" 

Hugh  made  no  reply,  and  they  descended  the  avenue 
together,  the  Anarch's  hand  in  tight  grip  upon  his  com 
panion's  arm.  The  stream  of  motors  and  carriages  raced 
past  them  continuously,  heading  for  the  residence  quarter. 
They  overtook  groups  of  men  loitering  in  discussion  of  the 
great  bill. 

"It's  out  of  the  way,  anyhow,"  a  man  said  wearily,  "and 
business  can  go  ahead.  That's  the  main  thing." 

"He  means,"  observed  the  Anarch,  "that  the  stock  market 
will  buzz  to-morrow  and  will  swallow  some  more  millions  of 
paper  securities,  and  so  the  country  is  saved!  Noble  patriot! 
The  country  is  full  of  them.  They  see  visions  of  profits,  — 
motors  and  houses,  food  and  women.  The  country  is  saved 
daily  for  them!" 

"Would  you  or  I  do  better  if  we  were  in  their  place?" 

"I  forget,"  the  Anarch  said,  with  a  sneer,  "that  you  draw 
your  profits  from  the  scheme  of  things  as  they  are.  Your 
power  company  has  just  won  its  case  in  the  highest  court, 
I  see.  You  are  on  your  way  to  the  feast  of  the  plunderers 
to  celebrate  the  victory  at  the  national  trough.  And  you  are 
thinking  of  the  beautiful  one,  daughter  of  luxury,  whom 
you  dare  to  love.  You  must  go  far  and  fast,  my  foundling, 
to  marry  Alexandra  Arnold!" 


THE  FEAST   OF  THE  PLUNDERERS          249 

Hugh  drew  his  arm  from  the  Anarch's  grasp  with  sudden 
revulsion.  The  rough  hand  in  its  careless  sweep  had  touched 
too  deep.  He  might  say  to  himself  a  thousand  times  that 
this  woman  was  no  more  within  his  world  than  a  distant 
star,  —  bright  creature  of  another  sphere.  But  the  man's 
will  to  possess  rose  whenever  challenged  by  another.  It  was 
for  her  that  he  lingered  there  —  to  look  upon  her  once 
more. 

"Be  honest,"  Wethered  urged.  "Look  yourself  in  the 
face  like  a  man.  You  want  her.  Do  you  want  this  also?" 

They  had  reached  the  entrance  to  that  stately  stone  house 
on  the  avenue  where  Alexander  Arnold  lived.  It  gleamed 
into  the  night  brightly  from  its  many  windows,  and  already 
a  long  line  of  cars  had  formed  outside  the  gate  upon  the 
avenue  and  was  slowly  crawling  to  the  steps.  The  curious 
had  gathered  about  the  tall  iron  palings  and  packed  close 
around  the  gates,  held  back  by  the  police  from  entering  the 
strip  of  drive. 

Hugh  passed  inside,  admitted  by  the  warrant  of  his  gar 
ment,  but  his  companion  was  questioned,  and  after  some 
difficulty  overtook  him  at  the  steps.  He  laid  his  hand 
again  upon  Hugh's  arm. 

"If  you  will  not  come  now,  I  must  wait!" 

A  servant  in  livery  turned  the  shabby  stranger  from  the 
door. 

"Get  out!"  he  said. 

Some  of  the  alighting  guests  looked  at  the  bearded  fellow, 
with  the  cold  gaze  of  those  whose  sense  of  propriety  has 
been  offended.  A  policeman  came  up  from  the  gate  and 
hustled  the  unbidden  one  from  the  stone  steps.  Wethered 
protested. 

"I  tell  you,  friend,"  he  said  in  a  cool,  provoking  tone, 
"I  know  the  people  in  there  well,  but  I  have  no  intention  of 
thrusting  myself  into  their  feast.  Take  your  hand  away!" 


250  A  LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

There  was  a  scuffle,  and  Wethered  was  dragged  towards 
the  gate.  Hugh  ran  down  the  drive  while  the  curious  guests 
in  their  waiting  carriages  looked  on  and  made  talk.  Wethered 
clung  to  the  spokes  of  the  fence,  resisting  the  efforts  of  the 
police  —  there  were  two  of  them  now  —  to  drag  him  from 
the  precincts  of  the  feast.  Hugh  said  to  the  officers:  — 

"I  know  him.     I  will  see  that  he  makes  no  trouble." 

The  man  who  held  the  Anarch,  observing  upon  Hugh  the 
proper  garments  of  respectability,  released  his  hold,  saying:  — 

"He  looked  like  a  bad  one." 

"Why  do  you  make  a  row?"  Hugh  demanded  impatiently. 

"I  had  no  intention  of  disturbing  the  social  peace,  my 
correct  young  friend,"  Wethered  replied  mockingly.  "I 
merely  resented  the  harsh  manners  of  the  hireling,  which 
after  all  are  no  worse  than  his  masters'." 

The  two  retreated  to  the  gate,  where  the  Anarch,  leaning 
against  the  palings,  pointed  upwards  to  the  lighted  ballroom 
through  whose  open  windows  could  be  seen  the  forms  of 
men  and  women. 

"Behold!    The  feast  of  the  plunderers." 

As  they  stood  there  silently  watching  the  scene,  the  doors 
that  opened  upon  a  little  balcony  swung  back  and  a  woman 
came  forward  from  the  flood  of  light  in  the  room  and  leaned 
upon  the  stone  railing.  Hugh  recognized  Alexandra.  She 
was  so  near  that  he  might  speak  to  her;  she  was  breathing 
the  night  air,  watching  the  flashing  line  of  cars  on  the 
avenue  below.  He  could  see  her  gown  of  pale  silver, 
shining  with  little  points  of  light,  and  the  wreath  of  gold 
and  jewels  in  her  hair.  She  turned  as  though  to  reenter 
the  lighted  room,  but  paused,  her  arm  raised,  gazing  down 
toward  the  two  at  the  gates. 

"There  she  is!"  whispered  the  Anarch.  "Another  great 
Symbol,  like  the  fiery  text  you  once  read  from  my  room.  The 
symbol  of  plunder.  Adorned  with  the  sweat  and  the  blood 


THE  FEAST  OF  THE  PLUNDERERS          251 

of  her  fellows,  how  beautiful  she  is!  There  is  not  a  thread 
upon  her  body,  not  a  drop  of  blood  in  her  veins,  not  a  tone 
in  her  perfect  voice  that  is  not  taken  from  the  life  of 
some  other  nameless,  unknown  one.  Life  has  been  spilt 
prodigally  for  her  triumph.  She  is  the  sacrifice  of  the 
people.  .  .  .  Will  you  go  in  to  her  and  give  her  your 
homage?" 

Hugh's  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  bright  figure  above  them. 
A  man  had  come  from  the  room  behind  and  joined  her. 
She  met  him  with  a  smile.  He  took  her  fan  and  pointed  out 
into  the  sky.  They  turned  back  into  the  ball  room.  .  .  . 

The  stream  of  guests  filed  in  between  the  gates,  —  Senators, 
Congressmen,  diplomats,  men  of  fame  and  women  of  beauty; 
all  that  was  notable  in  the  capital  was  gathering  to-night  in 
the  house  of  Alexander  Arnold.  Among  them  Hugh  caught 
sight  of  that  rugged  spokesman  for  the  people  whose  words 
of  protest  at  the  trough  had  sunk  into  his  heart.  ...  A 
servant  closed  the  long  windows  in  the  ballroom  above, 
shutting  out  the  light. 

"Will  you  come  now  ?"  demanded  the  Anarch. 

The  uneasy  officer  of  the  law,  disturbed  by  the  presence  of 
the  shabby  fellow  within  the  gate,  ordered  him  roughly  to 
take  himself  off. 

"Come  now  —  move  on!" 

"The  word  of  march,"  Wethered  jested.  "Friend,"  he 
said  to  the  officer,  "a  cat  may  look  at  a  king,  as  the  saying  is. 
A  plain  man  may  stare  at  the  house  of  a  millionaire." 

"Not  inside  these  grounds.     Get  out  that  gate,  I  say." 

"Suppose  I  should  refuse?  Suppose  I  should  march  up 
that  vestibule  and  enter  those  doors  ?  Although  I  might  be 
an  unbidden  guest,  I  tell  you  there  are  those  within  who 
must  receive  me." 

"Here  —  stop  your  jaw !" 

The  officer  of  the  law  laid  a  hand  upon  the  Anarch's 


252  A  LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

shoulder  and  shoved  him  unceremoniously  into  the  gutter. 
Wethered  raised  his  fist  threateningly,  then  with  a  laugh 
turned  away. 

"Not  yet  —  not  here!"  he  muttered. 

A  heavy  car,  floundering  like  a  double-eyed  dragon  on  the 
slippery  pavement,  would  have  caught  Hugh,  had  Wethered 
not  reached  out  a  strong  arm  and  pulled  him  from  before 
the  panting  machine.  In  the  glare  of  the  great  lights  he 
saw  two  men,  —  Senator  Dexter  and  Oliver  Whiting.  The 
Senator's  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  Anarch  as  if  in  recog 
nition,  while  the  banker,  leaning  from  the  car,  hailed  Hugh  in 
surprise. 

" Where  are  you  going?" 

The  motor  shot  forward  into  the  narrow  drive,  and  the 
faces  of  the  two  gentlemen,  each  expressing  concern  and 
astonishment,  disappeared. 

"Come  with  me!"  said  the  Anarch. 


XXVI 

"COME  WITH  ME!" 

THUS  there  began  for  Hugh  Grant  the  phantasy  of  a  dream. 
Neither  time  nor  place  in  all  that  strange  pilgrimage  with  the 
Anarch  could  ever  be  clearly  recalled  afterward.  It  was  like 
the  leaves  of  a  thick  book  of  pictures,  —  each  distinct,  each 
peopled  with  its  own  world  of  human  beings,  each  burned 
indelibly  upon  his  brain.  And  from  the  panoramic  whole, 
as  it  unwound  in  their  wandering  from  day  to  day,  the  lesson 
of  his  guide  was  learned  and  entered  his  heart  forever. 
The  night  when  he  turned  from  the  lighted  house  of  mirth, 
where  for  a  moment  he  had  seen  the  woman  of  his  desire 
shining  in  all  her  beauty  and  power,  he  was  still  in  good  part 
the  Youth,  with  warring  impulses  and  many  desires.  From 
this  pilgrimage  there  emerged  a  Man,  —  resolute,  of  stead 
fast  purpose.  .  .  . 

Lying  in  his  bed  upon  the  long  train  he  watched  the  reced 
ing  City,  whither  he  had  come  one  bright  winter  afternoon  in 
eager  hope  and  faith.  His  hope  was  selfish;  his  faith  was 
childish  ignorance.  And  they  had  been  taken  from  him. 
The  city  glittered  from  its  lighted  avenues.  The  stars  shone 
thick  in  the  soft  darkness  of  the  sky.  The  great  dome  of  the 
Capitol,  with  its  spreading  wings,  brooded  over  the  place,  — 
the  temple  of  a  free  people.  With  his  eyes  upon  this  he  fell 
asleep,  and  when  he  awoke  the  next  morning  the  train  was 
winding  slowly  among  low  hills.  Over  the  wet  earth  came 
softly  the  breath  of  spring.  From  the  miserable  cabins  thin 
streams  of  bluish  smoke  curled  upward  to  the  blue  above  the 
trees.  Slatternly  women  and  gaunt  men  and  ragged  children 

253 


254  A   LIFE  FOR   A   LIFE 

stood  in  the  doorways  to  watch  the  express,  which  like  a  daily 
comet  whirled  along  its  path  across  their  little  world.  It  wa&- 
these  among  all  the  many  millions,  mute  creatures  in  for 
gotten  corners,  for  whom  the  wise  men  of  the  Nation  made 
laws.  And  it  was  from  these  among  others  that  toll  was  taken 
by  the  strong,  a  few  miserable  cents  in  every  coin. 

Somewhere  among  these  low  hills  the  two  left  the  train  and 
presently  entered  a  black  shed  where  boys  and  girls  picked  the 
broken  coal,  then  descended  into  the  earth  in  company  with  a 
shift  of  dark-faced,  foreign  men,  —  large,  dumb,  enduring 
creatures.  The  Anarch  seemed  familiar  here,  as  in  many 
places  of  their  journey.  He  spoke  to  the  men  in  their  own 
tongue,  and  the  faces  of  the  cattle-like  miners  answered  with 
humor  and  fellowship.  In  the  gloom  of  that  underworld  he 
seized  pick  and  shovel  and  swung  them  handily,  while  Hugh 
Grant,  breathing  the  foul  air  of  the  low  cavernous  passages, 
coughed  in  weakness.  His  guide,  shouting  hoarsely,  explained 
the  matter :  — 

"This  is  the  famous  Alexandra  mine!  Out  of  these  pits 
came  the  first  kernels  of  Alexander  Arnold's  great  fortune. 
'Tis  but  one  of  the  many  mines  he  controls  in  this  region,  but 
I  have  brought  you  here  that  you  may  see  the  dark  fount  of 
that  golden  spring  which  gushes  to  adorn  the  beautiful  one 
we  beheld  last  night!" 

Alexandra,  creature  of  light  and  beauty  and  joy,  had  given 
her  name  to  this  fetid  pit,  whose  black  dust  was  transmuted 
into  the  tones  of  her  silvery  voice,  the  very  waves  of  her  eager 
mind!  Hugh,  cowering  against  the  wall  of  the  narrow  passage 
while  a  blast  resounded  near  him,  remembered  her  standing 
beside  the  fish-pond  at  Paradise  Valley,  examining  the 
little  trout. 

"These  men,"  his  guide  was  saying,  —  "Croatians,  Slavs, 
what  not,  —  are  beguiled  yearly  from  their  forest  homes  by 
lying  agents  in  order  that  they  may  dig  Arnold's  wealth  for  a 


"COME   WITH  ME"  255 

few  cents  of  daily  wage.  They  are  the  tools  of  his  business,  — 
the  human  tools.  Once,  you  may  remember,  they  demanded 
more  for  themselves,  more  life  for  their  wives  and  children, 
and  the  company  locked  them  out.  They  spent  their  hoarded 
mite,  and  the  company  the  millions  in  its  treasury.  It  was 
war.  But  who  paid  for  this  private  war?  You  and  I  and 
every  one  who  must  burn  coal  —  not  Alexander  Arnold  and 
his  associates.  Not  they  —  clever  devils!  The  men  will 
fight  again  and  again  —  for  more  life;  and  some  day  —  we 
shall  not  pay  the  bill!"  The  shabby  Anarch's  eyes  glittered 
in  the  torchlight. 

"Here,"  he  continued,  as  they  stumbled  on,  "is  the  entrance 
to  that  shaft  where  some  years  ago  threescore  men  were  caught 
in  a  fall.  For  eighteen  days,  more  than  a  dozen  men  endured 
the  gases  and  the  heat,  hunger  and  thirst,  in  the  hope  of  getting 
back  to  the  air,  to  their  families.  One  of  them  —  a  Lithuanian 
Pole  —  kept  their  spirits  alive  with  his  songs  and  his  prayers. 
There  were  heroic  deeds  in  that  black  hell  those  eighteen 
days,  —  deeds  to  make  tears  come  at  the  thought  that  men 
can  rise  so  high.  And  yet  they  say  these  miners  are  little 
better  than  beasts!  I'd  trust  my  life,  the  honor  of  women, 
with  them  rather  than  with  their  masters!  .  .  .  The  pit 
was  improperly  shored  —  a  petty  meanness  of  the  company. 
It  is  walled  now,  and  the  fire  is  eating  itself  out."  .  .  . 

In  the  evil-smelling  atmosphere,  full  of  reverberating  noise, 
Hugh  became  faint,  and  his  guide  helped  him  to  the  car,  in 
which  they  quickly  shot  to  the  surface,  where  the  wan  daylight 
that  filtered  through  the  breaker  was  grateful. 

"Had  enough  of  it?     Those  fellows  are  strong;   they  are 
hardened  to  it,  ten,  twelve,  fourteen  hours  a  day,  yet  they 
become  worn  out  in  ten  to  fifteen  years,  if  they  are  not  killed 
before.     The  waste  of  life  is  enormous  in  our  mines.     But  it  j  I 
is  cheaper  so,  for  there  are   plenty  where  they  come  from !  i 
Europe  breeds  labor  for  us." 


256  A   LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

And  Grant,  remembering  the  suave  periods  of  President 
Butterfield  and  other  comfortable  citizens,  who  decried  "sen- 
timentalism,"  muttered  something  about  "the  margin  of 
food  supply,"  "economic  law." 

"Economic  law!"  sneered  his  guide.  "There  are  other 
laws,  higher  even  than  the  economic  laws.  That  phrase  was 
coined  to  soothe  the  conscience  of  capital." 

They  passed  on  into  the  ugly  little  town  hanging  to  the 
scrubby  hillside  below  the  mine.  The  dull,  sordid  grime  of  the 
place,  even  in  the  spring  sunshine,  fell  like  a  damp  cloud.  In 
an  even  tone  his  guide  poured  forth  a  volume  of  figures, 
examples,  anecdotes,  explaining  the  value  of  "life"  in  human 
terms  for  "those  cattle  below,"  —what  life  meant  in  units 
of  food,  rest,  health,  pleasure.  They  entered  a  saloon  where 
the  workers  fresh  from  their  shift  below  were  drinking  the 
colored  poisons  protected  by  law. 

"This  is  solace  for  ten  hours  of  the  hardest  physical  labor, " 
Wethered  said,  pushing  a  bottle  toward  his<  companion.  l '  After 
that  job  most  of  us  would  like  some  dissipation  to  restore 
the  nervous  equilibrium."  He  held  the  brown  liquid  to  the 
light  before  drinking  it,  remarking,  "What  beautiful  dyes 
they  manufacture  these  days!"  And  tossing  it  off  with  a 
grimace  he  continued  to  narrate  the  history  of  the  Alexandra 
mine,  —  describing  the  system  of  fines,  the  burden  of  taxation 
by  which  every  article  of  food  and  clothing,  every  nail  in  the 
miner's  wooden  shanty,  every  material  object  that  touched 
his  life,  paid  toll  to  some  body  of  men.  He  told  the  story  of 
the  coal  tax,  obtained  by  trickery  years  before  and  continued 
ever  since,  by  means  of  which  fifty  cents  was  added  to  the 
price  of  every  ton  of  coal  sold. 

They  loitered  in  the  murky  streets,  observing  the  women 
and  the  children,  and  passed  to  the  blackened  hillside  while  the 
sun  sank  behind  the  gloomy  horizon. 

"These  forlorn  hills,"  —  the  Anarch  waved  his  hand  over 


^^!L 

"COME  WITH  ME"  257 

the  landscape,  —  "Arnold  got  possession  of  by  a  trick. 
They  had  been  in  the  hands  of  a  poor  Southern  family,  who 
had  owned  them  for  generations  —  ever  since  some  strong 
ancestor  had  grabbed  them  from  the  Indians.  They  were  sold 
to  Arnold  and  a  group  of  his  friends  by  an  honest  fellow,  an 
old  surveyor,  who  was  the  agent  for  the  owners,  and  congratu 
lated  himself  that  he  had  got  a  good  price  for  his  principals. 
But  Arnold  had  secretly  sent  his  own  agent  to  examine 
them,  and  knew  that  they  were  rich  in  coal.  Then  he 
cheated  his  associates  in  the  "deal,"  and  got  the  lands  for 
himself.  They  were  immensely  valuable  —  behold !  Over  a 
hundred  millions  of  dollars  have  been  taken  from  these 
properties,  which  the  old  surveyor  sold,  honestly,  for  twenty- 
three  thousand  dollars  —  the  price  of  the  timber  and  the 
soil." 

It  was  the  old  story  heard  by  Hugh  so  often  in  his  youth, 
told  with  pride  by  David  Grant — his  honest  stroke  of  busi 
ness!  The  old  man  was  cheated  and  helped  to  cheat  his 
poverty-stricken  partners,  and  for  this  he  was  given  a  gold 
watch  and  a  dinner  by  Arnold.  Honesty  knavishly  turned  to 
the  sole  profit  of  a  single  man!  Hugh  laughed. 

"They  talk  much  about  the  creative  genius  of  our  great 
robbers  —  what  they  have  done  for  their  country.  'Tis  a 
tale  for  boys !  Alexander  Arnold  never  ventured  a  dollar  where 
he  was  not  certain  to  reap  a  hundred  or  more.  He  and  his 
kind  buy  cheap  and  sell  dear.  That  is  all.  They  never  take 
a  risk,  never  create,  —  merely  buy  and  sell.  He  bought  coal 
instead  of  wood  and  land  —  so  always!" 

"But,"  Hugh  demurred,  "these  mines  are  no  longer  Ar 
nold's  private  property;  they  are  owned  by  a  great  corpora 
tion." 

The  Anarch  smiled. 

"Child,"  he  said,  "the  corporation  is  a  device  by  which 
under  cloak  of  law  responsibility  and  publicity  may  be  evaded. 


258  A   LIFE  FOR  A   LIFE 

'Tis  an  impersonal  means  by  which  men  work  their  wills. 
.  .  .  The  story  of  this  corporation  is  an  interesting  one, 
also  with  its  lesson." 

He  recounted  the  building  of  the  corporation  out  of  the 
isolated  mines,  its  dealings  with  the  Atlantic  and  Pacific  Rail 
road,  wherein  Michael  Peter  Ravi  first  came  into  sight,  and 
finally  the  alliance  of  railroad  and  mine  in  a  ruthless  war 
upon  all  rivals  —  a  tale  of  past  plunder,  still  pursued,  sanc 
tioned  by  time  and  custom. 

"So  they  prevailed  upon  Congress  to  lay  a  tax  upon  all 
imported  coal,  and  thus  was  completed  what  Butterfield  calls 
'a  great  economic  service  for  humanity.'  Arnold,  you  know, 
gave  Nick  Butterfield  a  few  millions  for  his  university,  and 
he  is  about  to  erect  for  the  City  a  magnificent  Museum. 
Upon  the  pediment  of  Ellgood's  splendid  building  should  be 
inscribed  the  names  of  those  who  have  given  their  lives  and 
their  children's  hopes  to  build  it."  He  indicated  the  little 
mining-town.  "Not  Alexander  Arnold's.  The  charity  of 
our  noble  benefactors!  It  stinks  rather  worse  than  their  evil 
deeds." 

These  were  not  the  tones  in  which  Percy  Todd  had  drawn 
the  portrait  of  Alexander  Arnold  in  the  pages  of  Ambition. 
That  was  the  heroic  picture  of  a  modern  Titan,  creating  wealth 
for  the  multitude  to  enjoy! 

Hugh  Grant,  remembering  the  fine  features  of  the  white- 
haired  man,  his  calm,  searching  brown  eyes,  remembering 
the  joyous  grace  of  Alexandra,  felt  there  was  a  mystery  not 
fully  probed  by  the  Anarch's  hot  words.  Nevertheless,  the 
richness  of  the  woman's  white  robe,  the  gold  fillet  in  her  hair, 
seemed  tarnished  with  the  soot  from  this  black  earth, 
whence  had  come  her  privilege.  And  as  they  passed 
through  the  sordid  streets,  there  floated  around  her  delicate 
limbs  a  mob  of  brutish  Croatians,  drunken  men  and  seared 
women,  and  the  blackened  faces  of  the  little  gnomes  within 


"COME   WITH  ME"  259 

the  breaker.     "We  are  giving  you  our  lives,"  they  whispered, 
"and  we  do  not  give  with  love!" 

"Alexander  Arnold,"  resumed  the  Anarch,  "it  is  needless  to 
say,  is  not  the  greatest  of  our  noble  army  of  Plunderers.  He 
was  not  the  first;  he  will  not  be  the  last.  But  he  is  a  perfect 
type,  and  inasmuch  as  fate  has  brought  you  closer  to  him  than 
to  others,  I  have  chosen  first  to  expose  for  your  sight  his  roots. 
We  will  see  other  regions  beyond  his  power.  But  the  meaning 
is  the  same,  always  the  same  —  a  life  for  a  life."  And  Hugh 
added  to  himself,  "And  life  given  without  love  is  death." 

So  from  the  Alexandra  mine  the  two  journeyed,  over  the  low 
hills  scarred  by  mine  pits,  through  broad  valleys,  to  a  swift 
river.  This  river  ran  like  a  crease  in  a  man's  hand  from  the 
highlands  in  which  the  beds  of  coal  lay  buried,  through  the 
fertile  midland  plains, — a  broad  swift  stream,  colored  with  the 
dark  soil  of  the  land.  Scarcely  a  century  before  across  the 
low  mountains,  down  this  river  bed,  had  come  a  hardy  race, 
seeking  rich,  new  fields,  desiring  broad  horizons  for  them 
selves  and  their  children.  They  had  poured  themselves  over 
the  virgin  midland  plains,  conquering  nature,  until,  the  land 
well  filled,  their  children  had  pushed  forth  to  other  lands  beyond, 
and  so  on  across  the  topmost  barrier  of  the  continent  until  the 
human  tide  met  the  antipodal  ocean.  Conquest,  it  was  — 
the  spirit  of  possession,  —  the  glorified  spirit  of  the  race,  — 
so  often  praised,  worshipped !  First  the  conquest  of  stubborn 
nature.  Then,  children  of  this  very  earth,  they  had  turned 
their  hands  against  each  other  in  bloody  war.  Having 
conquered  their  mother,  they  turned  upon  themselves  to  slay 
and  eat. 

"Mine"  and  "thine"  were  the  words  in  their  mouths! 

Thus,  through  small  towns  and  cities,  through  country  vil 
lages  and  open  fields,  the  two  went.  At  night  in  swift  trains 
as  they  passed  lonely  farms,  with  their  feeble  lights  glim- 


260  A   LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

mering  into  the  dark,  the  heart  of  the  younger  man  warmed. 
In  these  solitary  homes,  whose  lights  glimmered  from  horizon 
to  horizon  across  broad  states,  northward  to  the  lakes  and 
southward  to  the  sea,  on  these  farms  still  lived  men  with 
another  spirit.  Here  upon  the  bosom  of  the  fertile  earth 
men  still  lived  and  labored,  bringing  forth  the  increase  of  the 
seasons,  perpetuating  the  primal  promise  to  man,  in  health 
and  simplicity.  These  little  kingdoms  of  life,  each  with  its 
woman  and  her  brood,  its  guiding  master,  were  free  from  the 
chains  of  the  plunderers.  The  Home! 

This  pretty  dream  of  poetry  was  sternly  shattered  by  the 
sharp  words  of  the  Anarch.  Even  here  upon  the  soil 
itself,  it  seemed,  the  laborer  was  bound  inextricably  into  the 
complex  machine  of  Society,  —  the  whole.  Each  depended 
upon  manifold  others  for  existence,  as  all  depended  upon  him. 
In  every  house  from  which  glimmered  the  torch  of  life,  — 
feeble  light,  —  the  common  implements  of  existence,  —  food, 
and  tools,  raiment  and  housing,  paid  toll,  —  each  its  mite  to 
the  plunderer.  Here,  as  in  mine  and  mill  and  factory,  the 
strong  laid  the  burdens  of  their  selfish  wills  upon  their  fellow- 
men,  from  ocean  to  ocean,  across  the  broad  land.  .  .  . 

For  thus,  from  the  poorest  farm,  from  the  barest  cottage,  up 
to  the  starry  splendor  of  Alexandra  in  her  palace  at  Paradise 
Valley,  life  is  linked  indissolubly  with  life! 


XXVII 

"COME  WITH  ME!" 

THEY  entered  the  stockade  thrown  about  the  works  of  a 
great  mill,  where  an  industrial  battle  was  being  fought  between 
masters  and  men,  in  this  peaceful,  plentiful,  prosperous  country. 
Men  with  rifles,  soldiers  of  the  corporation,  patrolled  the 
stockade,  and  a  line  of  wooden  cars  housed  the  rabble  brought 
from  the  cities  to  take  the  places  of  the  men  outside.  One 
car  was  the  prison,  another  the  field  hospital.  About  the 
guarded  gate  they  saw  the  sullen  faces  of  men,  they  heard  the 
curses  of  women.  For  the  bread  and  meat  that  makes  the 
blood  of  life  was  being  taken  from  them.  Like  wolves  they 
hung  about  the  walls  of  their  prison,  snarling. 

"A  little  skirmish  in  these  piping  days  of  peace,"  observed 
the  Anarch.     "The  company  has  turned  the  men  they  have 
gathered  here  to  work  for  them  into  the  street  in  a  dispute 
over  wages  and  the  right  to  hire  whom  they  will.     Senator 
Dexter  should  bring  hither  his  committee  of  fat  Senators  to 
discuss  the  question  of  a  'living  wage.'     'Tis  odd  that  in  this  i 
time  of  bursting  plenty  some  three  thousand  men  should  j 
be  fighting  about  'a  living  wage'!" 

As  they  crossed  the  armed  camp,  they  heard  in  the  distance 
the  sound  of  pistol  shots  and  sharp  cries.  There  was  a  quick 
rush  of  men  with  rifles  to  the  scene  of  blood. 

"A  case  of  the  right  to  do  with  mine  whatever  I  will! 
One  of  the  sacred  guarantees  of  our  Constitution,"  the 
Anarch  observed  impassively.  "You  have  doubtless  read 
President  Butterfield's  public  speeches  on  'Lawless  Labor' 
and  '  Freedom  of  Contract '?  It  sounds  well,  —  the  scholarly 

261 


262  A   LIFE   FOR  A   LIFE 

gentleman's  passion  for  freedom.  He  should  put  on  a  pair  of 
greasy  overalls  and  try  to  support  a  wife  and  children  with 
his  hands,  if  he  wants  to  test  his  l  freedom  of  contract. ' .  .  . 
But  property  must  be  respected,  —  the  sacred  right  to  do 
with  one's  own  what  one  will.  Behold!  the  majesty  of  the 
law!" 

Some  deputy  sheriffs  were  dragging  a  bleeding,  dazed 
creature  toward  the  prison  car,  while  others  armed  with 
revolvers  were  keeping  back  a  crowd  of  shrieking,  cursing 
foreigners.  Upon  the  stupid,  bewildered  face  of  the  prisoner 
was  written  a  large  surprise. 

"He  has  been  guilty  of  opening  his  mouth  in  argument 
with  some  scab,  —  an  offence  against  the  law.  ...  It  is 
useless  to  enter  the  works.  The  company  is  merely  making  a 
pretence  of  operating  them  with  this  scum,  so  that  they  may 
better  coerce  their  trained  workers  into  submission." 

They  passed  out  of  this  little  corner  of  hell  into  the  miser 
able  town  where  idle  laborers  were  gathered  in  knots  waiting 
the  outcome  of  their  hopeless  contest. 

"Now  we  shall  see,"  said  the  guide,  "the  domestic  working 
of  this  bit  of  civilization." 

They  passed  through  the  saloons  where  the  men  crowded 
for  warmth  and  cheer,  entered  the  squalid  homes  and  talked 
with  grim-faced  women,  sitting  in  bare  rooms,  idle  and 
cold.  Here  as  elsewhere  the  Anarch  seemed  at  home,  and  the 
people  received  him  readily,  as  one  of  themselves,  in  the  great 
freemasonry  of  those  who  have  labored  with  their  hands  for  the 
daily  wage.  When  Hugh  Grant,  touched  by  the  dumb 
misery  about  him,  would  have  given  money  to  a  gaunt 
woman  with  hungry  children,  his  guide  restrained  him. 

"Do  not  tempt  the  single  one;  give  to  the  fund,  —  to  the 
cause.  .  .  .  Poor,  foolish  people,  they  have  been  guilty 
of  an  economic  crime  —  a  great  devotion,  the  sacrifice  of  self 
for  the  good  of  their  class! "> 


"COME  WITH  ME"  263 

And  as  they  left  this  scene  of  sordid  battle,  the  Anarch 
recounted  the  story  of  the  works. 

"It  was  founded  by  that  same  philanthropist  who  has 
given  us  our  Hall  of  Peace,  and,  thanks  to  tariff  privilege 
and  cunning  devices  that  he  controlled,  made  himself 
a  large  fortune.  Not  that  he  invented  anything  — 
created  any  useful  thing.  The  process  from  which 
he  made  his  chief  gains  was  the  work  of  an  old  Scotchman, 
whom  he  bought  and  discarded.  Afterwards  this  plant  was 
one  of  those  taken  by  the  Republic  crowd,  of  whom  you 
know.  After  manipulation  by  that  master  hand  of  finance, 
Oliver  Whiting,  its  watered  securities  were  sold  to  the  public. 
It  has  paid  something  like  forty  per  cent  upon  that  inflated  val 
uation.  Nevertheless  the  company  finds  it  cheaper  to  fight 
its  men  than  to  yield  in  this  matter  of  a  '  living  wage.'  'Tis  an 
old,  old  story  —  one  that  you  may  know  even  better  than  I." 

And  Hugh  Grant,  remembering  the  vaults  beneath  the  Bank 
of  the  Republic,  where  millions  of  corporation  securities  lay 
hoarded,  began  to  see  and  to  understand  the  meaning  of  these 
paper  chains,  deftly  forged  by  the  banker  Oliver  Whiting 
and  "the  Republic  crowd." 

By  night  they  whirled  over  the  country  where  the  fires  of  the 
coke-ovens  shone  dusky  red  in  the  dark  sky. 

"Only  the  rawest  labor  is  used  there,"  his  guide  remarked, 
" '  hunkies.'  They  are  fed  to  the  flames  by  the  dozen  because 
it  is  cheaper  in  this  rich  country  to  burn  'hunkies'  than  to 
inspect  rigorously  such  danger-pits  as  these  coke-ovens.  Gov 
ernment  inspection,  in  a  country  where  the  right  to  do  with 
his  own  what  he  will  is  the  fundamental  law  of  the  land,  must 
be  a  farce.  It  would  hinder  the  development  of  our  resources, 
which  is  the  first  duty  of  capital." 

The  Anarch  described  the  "hunkie,"  with  an  endless  flow 
of  figure  and  detail,  —  the  amount  of  labor  units  in  him,  the 


264  A   LIFE  FOR  A   LIFE 

amount  of  "life"  he  could  expect  for  his  labor,  the  forms  and 
conditions  of  his  task. 

"  We  shall  see  more  of  him  yonder.  Our  next  goal  is  one  of 
those  modern  marvels,  much  heralded  in  print,  that  arouse 
the  after-dinner  patriotism  of  an  unthinking  public.  It  is  a 
large  industrial  town,  built  at  enormous  expense  in  a  few  months 
out  of  a  barren  waste,  and  filled  already  with  thousands  of 
workers,  —  the  very  labor-house  of  modern  industrialism, 
the  bivouacked  army  of  production." 

A  gray  and  wintrish  sky  hung  gloomily  over  the  flat,  sandy 
plain,  ribbed  by  many  rails,  converging  to  this  centre  of  labor. 
Neither  grass  nor  trees  would  grow  abundantly  upon  the  soil, 
—  merely  scrubby  bushes  in  the  hollows  of  the  sandy  ridges. 
From  afar  black  tiers  of  tall,  straight  chimneys,  like  giant 
stakes,  rose  into  the  gray  cloud,  lamping  the  gloom  with  their 
belching  fires.  They  were  wreathed  in  smoke  shot  by  red 
flames. 

"There!"  said  the  guide,  raising  his  hand. 

A  bitter  wind  swept  the  plain,  cutting  to  the  bone.  Before 
them  lay  sprawled  the  labor-house.  No  invitation  of  kindly 
nature  called  forth  this  city,  —  no  fertile  valley,  no  broad 
river,  no  sheltering  bay  —  nothing !  The  hand  of  man  made  a 
spot  with  the  steel  point  of  dividers  upon  the  map,  and  lo! 
here  in  the  waste  space,  in  answer  to  " economic  law,"  had 
sprung  full-grown  this  Titan  from  the  barren  soil. 

"For,"  explained  the  Anarch,  "this  is  the  scientific  point 
of  cheapest  production  and  distribution.  Here  most  easily 
the  raw  stuff  of  steel  can  be  gathered  and  the  finished  product 
scattered  up  and  down  the  land.  Moreover,  a  great  industrial 
army,  camped  here  in  the  midst  of  a  desert  plain,  can  most 
easily  be  controlled.  No  rebel  influence  may  gain  a  foothold 
in  this  private  kingdom." 

They  penetrated  the  modern  Utopia  by  the  broad  main 
avenue. 


"COME  WITH  ME"  265 

"Note,"  said  the  guide,  "the  well-paved  roads,  the  cement 
walks,  the  handsome  bank,  the  church  and  school  and  hotel. 
These  are  the  marvel  of  the  magazine  writer.  Also  the  hos 
pital,  equipped  and  maintained  by  the  corporation,  and  this 
pretty  little  park  with  shrubs  and  growing  flowers  between  the 
town  and  the  works.  It  is  all  that  the  imagination  of  capital 
can  conceive  that  labor  might  need  or  desire  —  even  to  the 
decent  saloon. " 

As  they  approached  the  entrance  to  the  vast  works,  they 
heard  the  low  thunder  of  the  mills  and  saw  the  wreaths  of 
poisonous  yellow  gases  floating  upward  to  the  leaden  sky. 
They  crossed  a  broad  canal,  filled  with  water,  and  were  stopped 
before  the  mouth  of  a  dark  tunnel  through  which  lay  the  only 
path  into  the  works.  Men  in  uniform  came  from  the  guard 
house  and  demanded  passports. 

"Note  the  moat,  the  tunnel,  the  railroad  embankment," 
murmured  the  Anarch.  "They  have  prepared  for  trouble, 
A  mere  handful  of  armed  guards  could  hold  these  works  against 
ten  thousand  fighters!" 

Within  the  spidery  spans  of  the  webbed  structures,  in  the 
vast  twilight  of  the  mills,  the  dull  roar  rose  to  the  insistent 
whine  and  shriek  of  electric  crane  and  steam  whistle,  —  the 
voice  of  the  man-made  monster.  From  the  deep  pits  into 
which  steel  scoops  dug,  by  the  glowing  streams  of  molten 
metal  flowing  from  the  ore-pots,  before  the  long  line  of  fur 
naces  they  passed.  Giant  arms  swung  to  and  fro  above  their 
heads,  bearing  hissing  vessels,  dropped  glowing  ingots  into  the 
flaming  mouths  of  furnaces,  then  picked  them  up  and  slid 
them  forward  under  huge  rolls.  And  the  glowing  metal, 
tons  and  tons  of  fiery  heat,  shot  forward  into  long  lines  of 
snaky  red,  moulded,  pounded,  cut,  —  to  drop  at  last  as  beams 
of  steel,  —  on  which  the  world  could  build  upwards  to  the 
sky. 

And  in  and  out  among  the   melting-pots,   the   glowing 


266  A   LIFE  FOR  A   LIFE 

furnaces,  the  molten  streams,  the  fiery  ingots,  white-faced, 
sweaty  men  ran  to  and  fro,  fashioning  the  steel,  —  fingers 
of  the  mighty  hand.  Men  of  rough  faces,  like  rocks  and 
gnarled  knots  of  wood,  men  with  quivering  muscled  limbs, 
shielding  their  eyes  from  the  terrible  glare  of  the  dripping 
metal.  "Most  of  these,"  said  the  guide,  "are  mere  hunkies. 
They  are  strong  as  animals,  but  they  can  endure  the  awful 
heat  only  a  few  years.  They  drop  out,  scarcely  more  than 
youths,  and  others  take  their  places." 

When  the  workers  stopped  in  the  momentary  intervals  of 
their  labor  and  looked  at  the  strangers,  in  their  rude  faces 
y  there  shone  a  human  light  of  manhood,  seeming  to  say,  "I 
too  am  a  man.  I  earn  my  bread  with  the  life  of  my  body." 

And  the  wanderer  thought  of  the  sleek,  soft-fleshed  men 
of  the  great  City,  who  manipulated  the  hands  of  the  machine, 
afar  off.  .  .  . 

As  they  slowly  passed  from  mill  to  mill,  following  the  path 
of  the  metal,  the  Anarch,  bellowing  hoarsely  in  the  din,  ever 
explained,  —  hours,  wages,  per  cent  of  accidents,  length  of  life, 
days  of  labor,  —  until  at  length  they  emerged  into  the  cheer 
less  day  amid  long  lines  of  laden  cars.  About  the  horizon 
shone  other  fires  from  factory  chimneys.  The  Anarch,  point 
ing,  said,  "Industries  swarm  about  their  mother,  —  steel!" 

Over  the  desolate  plain  were  scattered  also  the  hamlets  of 
labor. 

"Employment  is  uncertain,"  the  guide  continued  as  they 
went  their  way.  "That  is  the  worst  aspect  of  the  system. 
The  chance  to  labor  depends  upon  a  thousand  hidden  accidents 
beyond  the  will  of  the  men  to  control.  To-morrow  these 
roaring  mills  may  be  silent  and  the  chimneys  dark.  For 
every  four  days  of  earning,  the  worker  must  expect  one  of 
idleness." 

The  younger  man,  looking  over  the  desolate  plain  with  its 
clustered  houses,  said :  — 


"COME  WITH  ME"  267 

"And  still  they  bring  children  into  the  world!" 
"'Tis  the  human  way.  Do  you  blame  them  for 
that?  .  .  .  Yes,  they  breed.  Their  masters  depend  upon  the 
instinct.  They  were  called  into  being  to  feed  the  machine. 
They  are  bred  for  labor  like  cattle.  But  with  cattle  the  supply 
is  reckoned  closely  to  the  demand.  With  men  the  supply 
must  be  greater  than  the  demand  in  order  that  the  cost  of 
production  may  be  kept  down.  Well,  they  breed  —  the 
supply  is  inexhaustible.  And  there  is  always  Europe  to 
breed  for  us!" 

They  breed!     But  what,  asked  the  wanderer  insistently, 
does  LIFE  mean  in  this  vast  gray  labor-house? 


XXVIII 

"COME  WITH  ME!" 

AND  thus  this  strange  pilgrimage,  like  another  descent  into 
purgatory  and  even  unto  hell,  continued,  —  the  shabby 
bearded  Anarch  leading  his  companion  from  factory,  ware 
house,  and  mill  to  mine  and  railroad  and  shop,  teaching  him 
by  the  sight  of  his  own  eyes  what  life  means  to  the  silent 
multitude  upon  whose  bent  shoulders  the  fabric  of  society 
rests,  —  what  that  "life,  liberty,  and  the  pursuit  of  happi 
ness" —  brave  aspirations  of  the  forefathers  —  has  brought 
to  the  common  man  in  this  land  of  destiny  and  desire. 

The  wanderer  breathed  the  deadly  fumes  of  smelter  and 
glass  works,  saw  where  men  were  burned  in  great  converters, 
or  torn  limb  from  limb  upon  the  whirling  teeth  of  swift  ma 
chines,  —  done  to  death  in  this  way  and  that,  or  maimed 
and  cast  useless  upon  the  rubbish  heap  of  humanity,  — •  waste 
product  of  the  process. 

"For,"  as  his  guide  repeated,  "in  this  country,  where 
Property  is  sacred,  nothing  is  cheaper  than  human  life.  The 
slaughter  list  of  industry  is  enormous.  For,  remember, 
the  supply  of  raw  labor  is  inexhaustible." 

He  recalled  the  words  of  a  sleek  and  comfortable  man  of 
business,  at  the  end  of  the  day,  with  his  good  dinner  com 
fortably  in  his  belly  and  a  fat  cigar  between  his  lips:  "There's 
too  much  sentimentalism  in  the  air.  Some  religion  less  effemi 
nate  than  Christ's  is  needed  to  fit  the  facts  of  life.  In  the 
struggle  the  weak  must  go  under,  and  it  is  a  crime  to  interfere 

268 


"COME  WITH  ME"  269 

with  natural  law."  The  weak  must  go  under!  Surely  if 
that  were  the  law,  any  religion  that  would  offer  an  anodyne 
to  the  hopeless  were  a  blessing.  But  again  and  again  the  ques 
tion  rose  unanswered  to  his  lips,  —  who  are  the  weak?  And 
the  sleek  one  with  his  cigar  said,  "Those  who  go  under! "  .  .  . 

So  they  passed  on  their  way  through  squalid  factory  town 
reeking  with  human  vice  and  disease,  through  the  network 
of  railroad  terminals  crowded  with  laden  cars  rolling  forth  to 
satisfy  desires.  They  loitered  in  busy  city  stores,  in  dim 
basement  holes  where  bread  and  clothes  were  making,  in 
filthy  slaughter-houses  where  beasts  were  slain  by  beasts. 
Thus  they  saw  the  life  of  labor. 

In  a  great  industrial  city  they  entered  the  two-room  tene 
ment  of  a  woman  laborer.  The  mother  and  her  five  chil 
dren  had  been  deserted  by  the  father,  and  the  woman  was 
with  child.  Gaunt  and  weary,  she  returned  from  her  task  in  a 
tack  factory  close  by.  As  she  sat  before  them,  huddled 
on  her  chair,  the  life  to  be,  now  sucking  at  her  body, 
showed  through  her  cotton  gown ;  her  flesh  was  wan  and 
bloodless,  her  hair  and  hands  grimed  with  dirt. 

"One  girl  is  in  the  carpet  mill,  another  in  a  store,  a  third 
at  the  paper  factory,  and  the  boy  on  the  streets,"  she  told 
them.  And  the  rooms  were  shared  with  others,  for  rent 
was  dear  and  growing  dearer.  "All  we  can  make,"  she 
said,  "is  the  rent  and  food  enough  —  in  good  times."  Her 
eyes  fell  unconsciously  to  her  body,  where  the  new  life  was 
knocking  for  its  right.  "If  the  girls  will  only  stay  by  me 
and  the  mills  keep  open!" 

With  a  gesture  of  submission  she  set  about  the  household 
task.  The  Anarch  took  a  garment  from  the  nail  upon  the 
wall  and  held  it  out. 

"'Tis  pure  shoddy,"  he  said  softly.  "Wool  has  grown  so 
dear  that  not  one  person  in  four  can  pay  the  price  to  put  it 
on  his  back."  He  lifted  the  pot  from  the  stove,  saying, 


270  A   LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

"Even  this  vessel  must  pay  a  tax  of  one  cent  in  three  for  the 
benefit  of  others."  With  a  grimace  he  smelled  a  can  of  food 
upon  the  table.  "  Excellently  colored  and  perfectly  pre 
served —  with  poison!  .  .  .  There  is  not  one  thing  that  this 
woman  touches,  not  a  bit  of  cloth  or  leather  or  food  or  fuel  or 
vessel  that  does  not  pay  its  tax  to  those  who  have  the  power 
to  exact  it.  The  method  is  complex,  but  skilfully  devised, 
so  that  no  one  offends  the  law,  and  those  who  must  will  pay." 

The  woman  returned  and  stood  before  them,  in  all  her  sordid 
ugliness.  Through  wasted  flesh  and  pallid  color,  through 
stooping  limbs  and  faded  hair,  through  dirt  and  squalor,  still 
the  woman  was  there,  —  the  vessel  of  life !  And  behind  her 
there  seemed  to  the  wanderer  to  shine  that  glorified  picture  of 
Alexandra,  —  fine  hair  curling  above  her  broad  white  brow, 
fine  and  rich  cloth  covering  her  moulded  limbs;  all  that 
touched  her,  all  she  was,  fine,  delicate,  chosen.  Her  ears 
had  listened  to  the  sweetest  strains  of  music,  her  eyes  had  seen 
the  beauty  made  by  God  and  the  art  of  man.  Her  mind  was 
stored  with  thoughts  and  feelings,  —  the  treasure  of  the  race. 
Nevertheless,  between  the  two  human  beings  there  was  less  of 
difference  than  between  the  tenement  room  and  the  spacious 
hall  at  Paradise  Valley. 

"It  is  the  chance,"  he  murmured.  "Accident  has  denied 
it  to  this  one  and  given  it  to  the  other!  But  the  souls  and 
the  minds  of  the  two  are  near  alike." 

Behind  the  grimy  form  of  the  child-bearing  woman,  he 
saw  the  radiant  image  of  the  other,  and  she  was  less. 

As  they  went  their  way,  his  guide  said,  "These  are  the 
parasitic  forms  of  industry,  which  spring  up  near  the  large 
mills  and  works  to  profit  by  the  labor  of  women  and  children. 
For  we  still  put  children  to  work,  bending  their  soft  fiber  to 
the  mechanic  task,  grinding  their  minds  to  an  empty  purpose. 
The  labor  of  women  and  children  is  the  final  triumph  in 
economy  of  our  industrial  system. " 


"COME  WITH  ME"  271 

And  with  monotonous  insistence  he  set  forth  the  conditions 
of  this  cheapest  form  of  labor,  —  hours,  wages,  numbers. 

"These  children  and  child-bearing  women  should  be  wards 
of  the  law,"  he  said.  "But  the  law  in  a  nation  of  the  free  is 
chiefly  concerned  with  maintaining  the  'freedom  of  contract/ 
in  order  that  each,  the  strong  and  the  weak,  may  do  with  his 
own  what  he  will." 

At  last  their  long  journey  brought  them  to  the  wide  up 
lands  beneath  the  lofty  mountains  of  the  continental  barrier, 
where  among  the  bare,  rocky  peaks,  in  the  untamed  earth, 
miners  dug  for  precious  metals.  Here  as  elsewhere  the  Anarch 
seemed  familiar,  passing  with  secret  sign  the  guarded  gates. 
They  descended  into  the  seamed  earth  where  the  precious  ores 
lay  buried. 

"The  most  useless  and  the  dearest  of  man's  possessions!"  t» 
the  guide  observed,  handing  to  the  wanderer  a  piece  of  dull 
rock.  "Here  on  the  frontier  of  habitable  land,  you  might 
expect  the  war  of  men  to  cease  in  a  common  struggle  to 
subdue  nature.  Rather,  in  these  wide,  open  spaces,  in  this 
gambler's  task  of  getting  gold  and  silver  and  copper,  the 
spirit  of  strife  has  come  to  full  flower.  Here  the  greedy 
owner  meets  the  desperate  laborer  face  to  face,  and  the  fight 
is  with  dynamite  and  rifle.  Here  murder  is  done  in  daylight, 
and  the  law  of  force  need  seek  no  subterfuge.  Man  becomes 
once  more  the  elemental  animal." 

At  sunset  of  a  glowing  day  the  two  sat  upon  an  upper  ridge 
of  the  hills.  All  the  imperial  colors  of  the  firmament  dyed  the 
western  heavens  among  the  broken  peaks  of  the  mountains. 
Below  in  the  lonely  valleys  were  the  excoriations  of  the  mines, 
the  refuse,  the  smudged  stains  of  the  rough  surface  of  the  earth. 
The  guide  pointed  into  the  distance  where  the  huge  smelter  of 
Senator  Dexter's  mine  sent  a  yellow  cloud  upward. 

"Near  that  is  the  charred  debris  where  the  miners  blew  up 


272  A   LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

the  old  works.  Below  the  brow  of  yonder  hills  lies  that  stock 
ade  where  miners,  with  their  women  and  children,  were  penned 
for  weeks  like  wild  animals,  guarded  by  the  troops  of  the  na 
tion.  Beyond  is  the  edge  of  the  great  desert,  into  whose  water 
less  waste  others  were  driven  to  their  death.  Of  these  I  was 
one  that  escaped.  Men  were  shot  and  women  raped.  But  I 
tell  over  old  tales  known  to  all.  In  this  place  it  has  been  truly 
a  life  for  a  life  according  to  the  primitive  text  —  but  more 
honest  than  the  cunning  and  hidden  ways  of  the  law.  Here 
the  eaten  is  face  to  face,  at  least,  with  the  eater." 

The  twilight  came  down  like  a  curtain,  hiding  the  scars  of 
man's  dominion  over  the  earth.  The  two  sat  in  silent  thought. 
This  was  the  apex  of  their  journey  together,  and  the  end.  Be 
hind  this  lofty  table-land  of  the  continent  began  the  grim  des 
ert,  not  yet  subdued  by  man,  and  beyond  came  other  fertile 
valleys  and  other  mountains,  and  finally  another  ocean. 
Thither  had  been  carried  the  same  civilization,  the  same  spirit 
of  conquest  and  greed,  and  that  noble  aspiration  after  "life, 
liberty,  and  the  pursuit  of  happiness  "  bore  the  same  fruit  in  the 
blood  of  men.  Wherever  the  victorious  race  had  forced 
its  way,  it  sowed  the  seeds  of  hate  and  industrial  crime.  And 
the  flower  must  bloom,  early  or  late,  upon  the  lonely  cattle 
ranch,  in  the  primeval  forest,  the  soft  southern  grove,  or 
the  virgin  valley  of  the  "promised  land." 

Thus  spoke  the  Anarch. 

In  the  glimmering  twilight  the  fierce  eyes  of  the  bearded 
one  rested  upon  the  wanderer. 

"Have  you  seen  enough?" 

"  Enough !    God  knows." 

"So  at  last  you  understand  the  meaning  of  it  all!" 

"Not  yet ! "  And  from  the  depth  of  his  being  there  flashed 
the  demand,  "Why  have  you  shown  me  the  sore  surface  of 
life?  What  have  you  to  do  with  it?  And  what  have  I?  " 

His  guide   replied,  "So  you   still    long  for    the    smooth 


"COME  WITH  ME"  273 

paths  of  prosperity?  You  would  like,  as  friend  Gossom  says, 
to  shield  your  eyes  from  the  disagreeable  aspects  of  a  world 
that  is  good  to  you?  You  still  would  have  your  comfort  and 
your  heart's  desire?  Your  ambitious  fancy  still  turns  to  the 
daughter  of  privilege,  dainty  and  lovely  and  sweet  to  the  eye?  " 

His  soft  tones  gave  way  to  bitter  scorn. 

"I  have  shown  you  the  flesh  of  which  her  flesh  is  made! 
You  have  seen  the  tears  that  feed  her  laughter,  the  sweat  that 
clothes  her  with  her  perfection.  Go  back  to  her,  if  you  can! 
But  when  you  hold  her  in  your  arms,  you  shall  hear  the  tears 
and  see  the  sweat  of  the  many  of  which  she  is  made.  Take 
her  with  her  loveliness  and  her  riches  —  but  you  shall  never 
forget  whence  she  came!" 

The  wanderer,  who  loved  the  woman  with  all  his  blood, 
shuddered  and  hid  his  face  in  his  hands  before  the  curse. 

"For  no  longer  can  you  hide  the  truth  from  your  heart  as 
others  may  beneath  specious  words.  You  know  that  the 
privilege  of  one  is  the  sacrifice  of  another, — near  or  remote. 
You  who  are  skilled  in  the  ways  of  money,  who  have  seen  the 
tricks  and  the  frauds  done  under  the  law  in  secret,  you  KNOW 
that  the  game  means  a  life  for  a  life.  One  takes  and  another 
must  yield  perforce." 

From  these  bitter  words  the  wanderer  drew  away,  repelled 
by  the  hate  in  the  heart  of  the  Anarch,  murmuring :  — 

"It  is  not  all  the  truth!" 

"So  you  would  still  blind  your  eyes  and  become  as  they  are 
who  sit  in  power !  You  would  eat.  Then  eat  and  be  damned ! 
.  .  .  There  is  no  middle  way.  You  will  become  like  them, 
like  her  —  the  daughter  of  privilege!" 

And  the  other,  with  quick  passion :  — 

"Who  are  you f" 

Here  in  the  upland  of  the  new  world,  this  bearded  stranger 
had  grown  large  with  the  elements.  The  dirty,  broad-brimmed 
hat,  the  coarse  boots,  the  flannel  shirt  unbuttoned,  the  leather 


274  A  LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

belt,  the  lean,  muscled  arms  and  sunburnt  neck  and  face, 
stamped  him  as  the  man  of  the  people, — the  frontiersman, 
the  miner,  the  adventurer. 

"Tell  me,"  his  companion  insisted,  "what  have  you  to  do 
with  this  unjust  world?    Who  are  you  V  " 


XXIX 

THE  MAKING  OF  THE  ANARCH 

"I  AM  the  Anarch!"  his  guide  replied  with  a  laugh.  "I 
will  tell  you  how  I  was  made.  .  .  .  My  name  is  not  Wethered. 
That  was  the  name  of  my  mother's  people.  My  father's 
name  is  too  well  known  to  be  convenient  in  my  life!  My 
father  is  a  rich  man,  already  vastly  rich  when  I  was  a  boy,  and 
growing  daily  richer.  We  lived  in  the  City,  —  my  mother 
and  sister  and  brother  and  I,  at  least.  For  my  father  was 
rarely  there  —  I  should  not  call  our  hotel  a  home.  He  was 
abroad  in  the  world  prosecuting  those  many  enterprises  that 
have  yielded  him  abundant  wealth  and  more  abundant  power, 
which  of  all  his  abnormal  appetites  is  the  dominant  one. 

"  Abandoned  thus  by  our  father,  we  children  grew  as  we 
must  in  that  large  and  costly  hotel,  with  an  invalid  mother, 
many  servants,  governesses,  tutors,  parasites,  and  acquaint 
ances.  Before  I  was  a  full-grown  lad  I  knew  every  luxury 
and  every  vice  of  that  great  City.  I  was  robust  and  vital, 
with  strong  appetites  thundering  in  my  body,  like  my 
father.  And  there  was  nothing  to  stay  those  appetites, 
neither  friendly  counsel  nor  poverty.  The  church  was  never 
mentioned:  we  were  practical  atheists,  like  our  kind.  If 
my  father  knew  my  habits,  he  was  indifferent,  reckoning  the 
waste  of  large  vitality  as  necessary. 

"  In  some  way  I  was  pushed  and  pulled  into  the  university. 
There  my  powers  broadened,  with  more  money  and  even 
greater  independence.  I  should  have  been  expelled  the  first 
year,  had  it  not  been  for  my  father's  position.  His  name  was 
becoming  a  national  proverb,  and  though  his  fame  was  largely 


276  A  LIFE  FOR  A   LIFE 

malodorous,  he  had  the  only  sort  of  prominence  that  is  per 
manently  respected  in  this  country  —  Power.  And  I  was 
clever  enough  to  keep  within  the  formal  lines  set  by 
the  institution.  So,  in  spite  of  my  drunkenness,  my 
women,  my  rowdy  ways  in  public  places,  my  gambling 
and  idle,  swinish  life,  I  was  allowed  to  drag  out  the 
four  years  of  the  course,  reprimanded  from  time  to  time 
by  the  suave  Dean.  I  knew  what  the  Dean's  warnings  meant. 
When  Butterfield  met  me  in  some  city  hotel  or  rich  private 
house,  he  was  proud  of  my  acquaintance.  I  patronized  him ! 
.  .  .  My  father  gave  him  several  millions  of  dollars  the 
other  day  for  doing  his  best  to  ruin  the  son's  life,  —  no,  I 
make  a  mistake,  for  the  development  of  pure  science.  It 
doesn't  matter.  The  good  Nathaniel  is  a  worthy  shepherd  of 
rich  youth! 

"I  grew  flabby  and  heavy  with  food,  drink,  and  women. 
The  only  thing  that  saved  me  from  physical  and  moral  wreck 
was  my  love  of  the  woods  and  the  mountains.  In  wild  places 
like  this  I  spent  my  vacations,  hunting,  roaming,  renewing 
among  wild  beasts  and  mountains  that  primitive  force  which 
was  my  heritage  from  my  father. 

"That  father?  We  were  strangers.  He  was  a  cold,  hard 
person  whose  enormous  will  I  respected,  in  a  way,  and  feared. 
I  knew  he  had  contempt  for  me,  and  I  was  only  that  which  he 
had  made  me.  I  remember  while  I  was  still  under  the  guar 
dianship  of  the  excellent  Nathaniel  one  of  the  first  of  those 
articles  that  afterwards  became  so  common  in  the  magazines 
was  published,  and  made  something  of  a  sensation.  It  was 
the  story  of  my  father's  career  to  date,  —  his  rise,  his  methods, 
especially  his  connection  with  a  certain  great  railroad.  It 
may  have  been  exaggerated,  —  I  suspect  it  was,  —  and  it  made 
him  alone  responsible  for  the  lawless  acts  of  a  whole  class,  for 
the  predatory  spirit  of  a  people.  But  it  was  a  savage  picture 
of  a  great  savage,  and  it  pointed  out  a  truth,  —  the  country 


THE  MAKING   OF  THE  ANARCH  277 

that  permitted  the  existence  of  such  plunderers  could  be 
called  free  only  in  name.  There  was  more  truth  than  libel 
in  the  bitter  story. 

"I  remember  the  shock  it  gave  me  —  not  that  it  aroused 
any  moral  disgust.  For  I  had  no  moral  sense.  It  was  as  if  the 
fount  of  your  personal  being,  your  welfare,  —  your  pocket- 
book,  —  was  suddenly  revealed  publicly  as  a  kind  of  Nero, 
whose  character  and  acts  had  a  very  definite  influence  upon 
millions  of  his  fellow-men.  I  merely  wondered  that  any  one 
man  could  do  —  could  be  —  what  my  father  had  done, 
what  he  had  become.  A  sort  of  pride,  that !  Of  course  none 
of  my  friends  referred  to  the  article,  except  in  a  joking  way,  the 
tone  of  our  society,  and  I  knew  that  there  was  not  one  of  them 
who  would  not  do  the  same,  would  not  be  the  same,  if  he  had 
the  power,  the  opportunity.  Butterfield,  to  be  sure,  took 
another  note.  He  deplored  the  bitter  spirit  of  misunder 
standing  and  envy  that  could  so  travesty  '  a  great  economic 
force' — that  was  his  phrase — like  my  father.  And  he  took 
occasion  in  his  lectures  upon  economic  history  to  enlarge  on 
the  beneficence  to  society  of  '  our  great  American  entrepren 
eurs.'  My  father,  I  felt,  would  have  smiled  if  he  had  heard 
the  apology.  I  laughed  in  Butterfield's  face,  and  despised  his 
'  science.'  .  .  .  The  next  time  I  saw  my  father,  I  remember 
looking  at  him  with  a  new  curiosity.  We  were  in  his  City 
office,  —  I  had  gone  there  as  usual  for  some  money,  —  and  on 
his  desk  I  saw  a  copy  of  the  magazine  which  contained  his  bi 
ography.  He  noted  my  gaze,  and  before  my  eyes  he  took 
the  magazine,  which  was  uncut,  and  tossed  it  into  the  basket 
at  his  side.  'Make  out  a  cheque  for  my  son,'  he  said. 
'  Five  thousand.'  I  had  asked  for  two.  On  my  lips  were  the 
words,  —  Where  did  you  get  this,  whom  did  you  throttle  last? 
He  said,  in  his  usual  curt  tone,  'Is  there  anything  else 
you  want?'  and  turned  to  his  desk.  'No,'  I  muttered, 
' nothing!'  I  seized  the  cheque,  and  that  night  got  very 


278  A   LIFE  FOR  A   LIFE 

drunk;  I  remember,  maintaining  in  some  hotel  barroom 
to  the  delight  of  a  mixed  audience  that  I  was  the  son  oi 
Satan,  and  that  he  was  a  damn  good  fellow,  —  they  could  ask 
President  Butterfield  if  he  wasn't !  The  barkeeper  remarked, 
I  believe,  that  there  was  no  doubt  I  was  a  limb  of  Satan, 
We  shook  hands.  .  .  . 

"So  my  valuable  life  went  until  I  was  of  age  and  had  gradu 
ated  from  under  the  care  of  friend  Butterfield.  That  was  the 
first  year  of  his  presidency,  and  I  remember  the  subject  of  his 
address  was  '  Opportunity/  My  father  sat  among  the  dis 
tinguished  guests  and  benefactors.  Nathaniel  looked  very 
splendid  in  his  new  silk  gown  and  purple  hood.  I  think  I 
winked  at  him.  He  was  eloquent  about  opportunity  —  he 
himself  had  never  missed  one !  But  something  of  far  more 
importance  than  the  silly  degree  which  the  university  saw  fit 
to  bestow  upon  me  was  happening  to  me  at  this  time.  I  was 
in  love !  The  commonplace  thing,  the  usual  story,  but  in  my 
case  this  simple,  natural  fact  was  destined  to  have  more  result 
than  anything  that  ever  came  to  me.  .  .  . 

"She  was  a  young  woman,  some  connection  of  my  mother's 
people,  poor  and  unhappy,  having  been  married  unfortunately. 
Her  husband  was  dead,  and  she  came  to  spend  most  of  her 
time  with  us,  as  a  sort  of  companion  to  my  mother,  who 
was  already  quite  ill.  She  was  young  enough  and  lovely 
enough  for  any  man  to  lose  his  heart  to.  What  need  I  say 
more?  If  she  had  been  far  less  beautiful  and  lovable,  the  story 
would  have  been  the  same.  As  it  was,  I  loved  her  for  her  mis 
fortunes  in  life,  as  well  as  for  herself.  I  wished  to  take  her  out 
of  her  dependent  place  and  put  her  on  some  happy  height ! 
It  was  the  first  decent,  unselfish  purpose  I  had  ever  had, 
and  I  cherished  it.  ...  We  saw  a  deal  of  one  another,  — 
I  did  not  go  to  the  mountains  that  summer,  —  and  she  met 
me  honestly,  with  fondness,  as  a  good  friendly  woman.  She 
might  well  have  shaped  me  somehow  if  her  hand  had  ever  rested 


THE  MAKING  OF  THE  ANARCH  279 

upon  me.  But  I  will  omit  the  steps:  as  I  have  said,  they 
mean  nothing  in  the  whole. 

"  One  day  I  told  her  I  loved  her.  She  put  her  head  between 
her  hands  and  cried.  I  knew  by  those  tears  that  she  cared  for 
me,  and  I  fancied  she  believed  she  must  refuse  me,  —  because 
of  my  father's  disapproval.  I  told  Hfer  I  cared  nothing  for 
my  father,  nothing  for  his  position  and  wishes,  that  I  would  go 
away  and  make  a  life  for  her  and  me,  a  new  life,  if  she  would 
marry  me.  Then  she  looked  at  me  with  her  tear-stained  eyes, 
the  saddest  look  a  woman's  face  can  have !  She  put  her  hands 
on  my  head  and  kissed  me,  and  bade  me  go  away,  to  make 
that  new  world  for  myself.  But  she  would  promise  nothing, 
—  merely  I  was  to  go  away,  forget  her  if  I  could,  and  make  my 
self  over.  I  felt  unworthy  of  her,  and  humbly  I  accepted  her 
decision. 

"So  I  went  to  my  father,  already  in  my  heart  a  new  man, 
no  longer  the  loafer  and  swine,  purged  and  restless  for  reality. 
That  thing  happens  daily.  I  said  to  my  father,  '  Anything, 
anywhere,  but  let  me  get  to  work ! '  He  smiled  ironically  at  my 
heat,  and  remarked  upon  my  sudden  desire.  Something  kept 
me  from  admitting  to  him  the  real  reason.  '  You  must  grow 
up  some  day,'  he  observed  in  the  end.  '  It  is  well  to  begin  at 
once.'  And  that  very  day  he  and  I  started  on  a  journey  in  his 
car,  which  ended  for  me  in  a  dirty  railroad  terminal,  a  thou 
sand  miles  from  home,  where  I  was  to  be  'tried  out.'  I  stayed 
at  the  job  six  months,  six  lonely  months,  working  faithfully, 
living  meanly,  even  saving  my  ridiculous  wages  — and  writing 
her,  of  course,  long  letters.  She  answered  briefly,  and  her 
replies  were  concerned  chiefly  with  myself,  encouraging  me  to 
persist,  to  have  ambitions,  to  'amount  to  something'  for 
my  own  sake,  not  hers.  They  were  sad  letters,  and  the  words 
of  an  older  woman  than  she  was  in  years.  They  were 
yearning  words.  Finally  they  ceased  to  come  —  I  could  not 
bear  it  —  I  was  restless.  One  day  I  got  on  the  train  and 


280  A   LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

rushed  back  to  the  City,  without  warning  to  any  one.  From 
the  station  I  hurried  up  the  City  to  the  little  street  where  she 
had  gone  to  live  with  some  relative  —  for  my  mother  had  left 
us  and  my  sister  had  gone  abroad.  A  carriage  was  standing 
before  the  door  of  the  number  where  she  lived.  It  was  a 
spring  evening,  and  through  the  open  window  I  could  see  her 
seated  at  the  piano.  In  a  moment  I  was  in  that  room,  and 
she  rose,  with  a  startled  cry  that  broke  the  melody  she  was 
playing,  to  face  me.  She  was  in  evening  gown,  her  gloves  on 
the  keys  of  the  piano,  evidently  waiting  for  some  one.  The 
twilight  sun  fell  on  her  hair.  She  put  her  hands  to  her  face 
as  she  had  that  day  I  told  her  my  love.  It  was  the  face  of 
an  older  woman,  almost  haggard.  In  my  hungry  passion  I 
did  not  speak,  but  took  her  in  my  arms.  She  shivered,  and 
with  bent  head  avoided  my  kiss.  I  had  never  kissed  her, 
and  all  those  long  hours  on  the  train  I  had  held  her  thus  in  my 
arms  and  quenched  my  love.  As  my  lips  touched  her  forehead 
she  broke  from  me  and  sinking  back  upon  the  piano  seat 
covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  moaning,  'No,  No!'  .  .  . 
Fool !  I  did  not  understand,  and  was  beseeching  her  to  tell 
me,  when  I  felt  that  there  was  another  person  in  the  room.  It 
was  my  father.  At  the  sight  of  him  she  tore  her  hands  from 
mine,  and  burying  her  head  upon  the  piano,  sobbed. 

"  My  father  was  always  quiet.  Now  there  was  a  little  smile 
upon  his  lips,  but  he  said  nothing.  He  also  was  in  evening 
clothes.  Drawing  on  a  pair  of  white  gloves,  he  asked  coldly :  — 

"'How  comes  it  you  are  here,  sir?' 

"'I  came  back  to  see  Cora,'  I  answered  bluntly.  'I  love 
her.  I  want  to  marry  her.' 

" '  No,  no ! '  the  woman  moaned.  Even  then  I  did  not  under 
stand.  'Never,'  she  cried.  'I  never  told  him  I  would.' 

"'I  shall  marry  her,'  I  said  stubbornly,  'if  she  will 
let  me!' 

"My  father  smiled  again,  that  little  dry  curving  of  the  lips 


THE  MAKING   OF  THE  ANARCH  281 

which  accompanies  a  perception  on  his  part  that  produces  de 
cision. 

"'Cora/  my  father  said  quietly,  'you  will  have  to  tell 
him  why  it  is  impossible  for  him  to  carry  out  his  honorable 
intentions  toward  you.' 

"'Never!'  she  wailed. 

"'Shall  I? 'he  asked  calmly. 

" ' No ! '     She  leaped  to*her  feet. 

'"Some  one  will  have  to.     His  mind  seems  made  up/ 
' '  Then  I  will ! '  she  flashed,  and  without  looking  at  me,  but 
with  her  eyes  on  my  father,  she  cried  as  if  the  words  were  torn 
from  her  heart,  'I  am  your  father's  mistress!' 

"The  smile  appeared  again  on  those  cold  lips,  scarcely  per 
ceptible  beneath  the  mustache,  and  I  hated  him.  I  knew 
that  I  should  always  hate  this  man,  my  father  as  he  was.  I 
made  a  step  unconsciously  toward  him,  and  he  muttered :  — 

" '  You  fool !     Go  back  to  your  job ! ' 

"Cora  saw  the  hate  in  my  eyes,  and  stepped  between  us. 
"Before  you  go/  she  said  hotly,  'you  shall  hear  more  of 
the  truth.  I  was  helpless,  friendless,  poor.  He  bought  me, 
as  he  has  bought  whatever  he  would  in  this  world.  .  .  .  But 
I  could  be  bought!  And  now  that  you  know  it/  she  said, 
turning  to  me,  '  that  is  enough  to  kill  your  love  —  so  it  is 
best  you  knew.  But/  —  and  here  she  turned  upon  my  father 
with  a  sort  of  shuddering  horror,  —  '  I  have  paid  your  price, 
and  now  I  am  free.' 

"Rumors  and  old  facts  came  back  to  me  those  swift  mo 
ments  while  I  stood  confronting  my  father  and  the  woman 
he  owned.  I  had  known  from  my  boyhood  that  he  had,  like 
me,  the  woman  habit,  which  is  so  often  the  vice  of  his  kind,  — 
oh,  decently  and  discreetly,  and  with  excuse,  of  course.  My 
mother  was  ill.  I  had  never  concerned  myself  with  the  scan 
dal  that  reached  even  a  son's  ears.  It  was  the  way  of  our  part 
of  the  world,  one  of  the  indulgences  of  power!  But  now  I 


282  A  LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

saw  him  as  the  magazine-writer  had  not  made  me  see  him, 
saw  him  for  what  he  was,  —  a  perfectly  lawless  being.  He 
was  incarnate  will,  self-will,  lawless,  triumphant.  I  hated 
him. 

"'Now  will  you  go?'  he  asked  impatiently,  'or  do  you 
prefer  to  dine  with  us  and  go  to  the  opera? ' 

"I  turned  to  the  door.  Otherwise  I  should  have  killed  him 
there  before  the  woman  I  had  loved.  Cora  stood  before 
the  door. 

"'You  shall  not  go,  without  one  more  word!'  She  looked 
at  my  father,  who  was  standing  perfectly  motionless,  his  gloves 
fully  on,  waiting  events  with  a  passivity  that  was  his  manner. 

"'Now  I  am  free,  I  can  speak!'  She  threw  up  her  head  in 
passionate  defiance.  I  saw  her  as  through  a  mist,  a  long  way 
off,  but  she  was  more  beautiful  in  the  white  heat  of  her  agony 
than  I  had  ever  dreamed  her  to  be. 

"'I  love  you!9  The  words  came  panting  in  low  tones. 
'You  are  the  only  one  in  my  heart.  I  sent  you  away  to 
save  you  from  this.  ...  It  might  have  been  —  it  might 
have  been!'  She  looked  with  loathing  at  my  father.  'I 
have  been  bought.  But  I  love  you.'  She  kissed  me,  for  the 
first  time,  the  only  time.  I  had  no  feeling  of  repulsion,  — 
only  a  fearful  sadness.  It  was  the  pure  tragedy  of  human  will. 
As  she  clung  to  me  for  the  moment,  her  lips  upon  mine,  my 
father  seemed  to  shrink  to  something  petty,  mean,  ignoble, 
a  thin  likeness  of  his  powerful  self  —  the  thing  he  will  be  in 
his  grave  when  he  dies.  All  his  superhuman  will  had  led  to 
this,  —  a  woman's  agony.  ...  I  placed  her  on  the  lounge, 
and  without  looking  again  at  my  father,  left  that  room."  .  .  . 

"Well,"  the  Anarch  resumed  in  a  few  moments,  with  a 
renewed  indifference,  "youth  takes  sentimentalities  of  that 
sort  hard.  Somehow  I  got  on  the  train  and  came  out  to  this 
region,  with  the  dumb  desire  of  the  animal  in  pain  to  get  away 
from  the  world.  And  for  a  long  time  I  stayed  here  mostly 


THE  MAKING   OF  THE  ANARCH  283 

alone,  thinking  my  thoughts,  layer  by  layer.  At  first  I  had 
the  wild  boyish  impulse  for  a  spectacular  revenge  upon  life, 
especially  upon  him  who  had  injured  me.  I  would  go  back 
to  the  world,  and  somehow  contrive  to  ruin  my  father,  to  cut 
away  the  props  of  his  power  and  drive  him  to  his  knees.  But 
that  folly  was  not  for  long. 

"My  money  ran  out,  and  in  order  to  live  I  must 
go  to  work.  I  was  strong  and  big,  knew  miners  and 
their  ways,  and,  naturally  enough,  my  first  job  was  with 
a  pick  in  a  gang  of  miners,  dreaming  that  I  should  some 
day  make  my  strike  and  get  fortune.  I  learned  that 
was  not  the  way  the  Aladdin  lamp  is  worked  these  days.  I 
was  at  Telluride,  at  Death  Valley,  at  Connors'  Gulch.  I  got 
my  lessons  of  modern  industry  and  production  in  those  lively 
places.  I  saw  that  the  worker  was  a  tool,  like  the  shovel  and 
the  stick  of  dynamite.  For  a  time  I  accepted  the  fact  as 
did  my  fellows,  and  spent  my  wages  as  they  did,  in  satisfying 
my  appetites.  At  last  I  began  to  think.  Men  reach  the  same 
goal  by  many  and  devious  paths.  I  became  what  I  am  by  an 
accident  —  my  unfortunate  love.  As  I  said,  I  began  to  think 
and  question.  Were  these  men  who  sweated  beside  me  in 
the  bowels  of  the  earth,  these  brutal  miners,  essentially  differ 
ent  from  the  society  that  had  surrounded  me,  —  from  my 
father  himself?  Were  they  essentially  less  civilized,  less 
intelligent?  The  smug  lectures  of  the  worthy  Butterfield 
still  rumbled  in  my  head,  —  'The  survival  of  the  fittest/ 
the  'economic  struggle/  the  'competitive  system/  the 
'best.'  I  began  to  see  the  lies  in  these  greased  fallacies. 
The  workers  about  me  had  lacked  the  opportunity,  the  stimu 
lus,  —  yes,  that  especially,  to  make  themselves  as  powerful 
as  those  whose  control  governed  their  daily  lives. 

"I  saw  that  the  many  labor  and  the  few  eat,  and  that  there 
was  no  divine  law  in  this,  merely  an  accident  improved  by 
those  who  had  the  power  to  eat.  A  consuming  curiosity 


284  A  LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

seized  me  to  understand  what  it  meant,  —  this  ingenious 
method  by  which  the  few  are  able  to  take  toll  from  the  lives 
of  unwilling  millions.  So  I  began  to  wander.  And  first  I 
sought  out  those  coal  mines  —  the  Alexandra  mines  —  where 
you  and  I  have  been,  and  there  I  labored  as  always  with  the 
men,  seeking  to  know  how  they  are  held  beneath  the  earth 
in  a  terrible  bondage,  so  that  a  few  may  reap  the  profit  of  their 
blood.  Thence  I  went  to  other  fields.  From  state  to  state 
I  wandered,  changing  my  occupation  as  chance  offered  work. 
I  have  sweated  with  a  gang  of  hoboes  at  the  wheat-stack  in 
the  blazing  heat  of  a  northern  summer.  I  have  dug  in  the 
trench  with  Italians.  I  have  worked  in  rolling  mills  and  in 
smelters,  —  wherever  men  labor  for  the  daily  wage  with 
their  hands.  And  so  I  learned  how  the  dumb,  ignorant 
worker  is  fed  and  clothed  and  encouraged  to  breed  for  the 
gain  of  organized  Plunderers,  like  my  father. 

"I  saw  what  law  means  in  the  courts  for  the  weak  and  for 
the  strong.  I  learned  the  meaning  of  that  boasted  guarantee 
of  freedom,  'Life,  liberty,  and  the  pursuit  of  happiness !' 
For  the  little  people  it  is  —  a  farce!" 

The  Anarch's  voice  died  harshly  in  the  empty  night. 

"Thus  I  found  my  purpose,  and  I  pursue  it!" 


XXX 

THE   SPIRIT   OF   HATE 

"AND  that  purpose?  "  the  other  demanded. 

Presently  the  Anarch  resumed  in  an  altered  voice :  — 

"At  first  in  my  anger  with  my  father  I  sought  some  way  to 
do  him  a  personal  injury,  to  exact  from  him  a  personal  re 
venge.  But  as  I  grew  colder  and  came  to  understand  more 
deeply,  I  saw  my  father,  not  as  the  man  who  had  fouled  the 
woman  I  loved,  but  as  the  spirit  of  a  race,  the  spirit  of  Greed 
—  an  Evil  Will  —  mastering  life,  killing  men  body  and  soul, 
as  he  had  possessed  the  body  of  the  woman  I  loved  and  killed 
her  soul.  And  so  my  revenge  took  a  larger  intent,  a  wider 
scope :  I  would  wreck  not  him  alone,  but  the  society  of  which 
he  is  but  an  example.  I  would  attack  the  organized  army  of 
Plunderers,  who  eat  the  bread  of  others." 

"How?" 

"They  believe  that  the  order  of  life  by  which  they  profit 
is  destined  in  the  elements  of  the  world.  Rebellion  of  labor 
they  buy  off  or  stamp  out.  When  driven  to  it  they  compro 
mise,  but  always  they  find  the  cunning  hidden  way  to  evade 
their  promises  and  achieve  their  wills.  Yet  the  day  will 
surely  come — is  coming  fast — when  they  can  neither  buy  nor" 
compel.  Another  time  of  famine  after  these  fat  years  of 
plenty,  and  the  murmurs  will  rise  to  curses.  Another  and 
yet  another !  For  the  Power  is  theirs,  and  slowly  these  silent 
millions  are  coming  to  feel  their  power.  I  and  others  like 
me  go  up  and  down  the  land  sowing  the  seed.  The  multitude 
has  a  thousand  eyes,  and  can  see.  It  thinks  slowly,  with  un- 

285 


286  A  LIFE  FOR  A   LIFE 

tutored  brains,  but  it  thinks!  .  .  .  They,  too,  have  appetites, 
like  Arnold  and  Ravi.  And  they  are  hungry  with  the 
hunger  of  unappeased  generations.  Some  day  surely  they 
will  eat." 

"What  would  you  DO?" 

"Tear  down!  Destroy  all  that  my  father  has  been,  is, 
will  be  — all!" 

He  spread  his  long  hands  into  the  night,  with  the  clawlike 
fingers  of  old  Arnold. 

"Evil  for  evil!    Does  that  bring  peace?" 

"We  want  no  feeble  peace!  We  want  justice.  And  first 
there  must  be  a  blood  sacrifice  for  sin,  blood  of  the  Thief  and 
the  Plunderer  for  the  blood  of  the  dispossessed.  There  is  no 
middle  way  of  soft  compromise.  That  has  been  tried  again 
and  again,  and  the  old  order  ever  emerges  triumphant,  - 
the  plunderer  and  the  plundered." 

"So  also  has  your  way  of  hate  been  tried  many  times." 

"Mere  spurts  of  red  flame,  flashes  in  the  night  before  the 
time.  And  the  strong  cowered  behind  their  laws  —  laws 
made  tcTprotect  their  property.  They  live  in  fear  always. 
Some,  like  the  banker  Whiting,  give  abundantly  to  charity,  to 
education,  to  art,  hoping  to  put  off  the  evil  day,  desiring 
vaguely  to  make  amends  —  God  knows  why!  Gifts!  They 
give  us  our  own.  .  .  .  They  do  not  understand:  they  will 
not  understand  until  they  see  their  property  crumble  in  smoke 
and  flame,  until  they  themselves  see  death  before  them  - 

"Murder  and  pillage!" 

"A  life  for  a  life.  If  all  that  shared  the  wrong  were  heaped 
dead  before  us  here,  there  would  not  be  enough  to  answer  for 
those  whom  they  have  slain." 

"And  afterwards?" 

The  Anarch  shrugged  his  shoulders  indifferently. 

"My  work  will  have  been  done:  the  structure  of  things  as 
they  are  will  be  rent,  irremediably.  .  .  .  The  Plunderers 


THE  SPIRIT  OF  HATE  287 

think  that  they  are  secure  for  their  lives,  firm  in  their  seats. 
They  little  know  how  thin  the  crust  is  to-night  between  them 
and  the  pit  of  hell.  A  single  torch  at  the  right  moment,  then 
the  whirlwind." 

There  was  no  longer  personal  hate  in  his  tone  of  prophetic 
triumph.  His  injury  had  been  swallowed  in  a  larger  passion; 
the  form  of  his  father  had  become  a  symbol  of  the  Evil  Will 
in  man  that  must  be  slain  as  a  blood  sacrifice. 

"A  life  for  a  life,"  slowly  murmured  the  wanderer.  "It  is 
an  empty  creed  of  hate!" 

"The  strong  have  so  willed  it.  Theirs  is  the  responsi 
bility." 

"Evil  cannot  cast  out  evil  —  that  is  not  the  way." 

"There  is  no  other!" 

After  a  time  his  companion  said :  — 

"I_gq  to  find  another!" 

Thus  the  two  parted,  in  the  dark  upon  the  mountain. 


XXXI 

FOB  "WHAT  is  LIFE?"  THE  SOUL  DEMANDS 

To  destroy!  The  cry  of  the  Anarch  rang  in  his  ears  long 
afterwards.  The  spirit  of  hate!  Because  the  many  had  been 
the  prey  of  the  few.  Hate  was  born  of  the  same  hunger  and 
the  same  lust  as  Power.  An  evil  seed  of  evil.  His  heart 
denied  them  both. 

He  knocked  at  an  humble  door,  and  a  crippled  child  opened 
to  him. 

"You  have  come  back!"  the  child  said  in  pleased  wonder. 

"Yes  —  for  a  little  while." 

"Father  is  dead,"  the  child  said  gravely.  "They  took 
him  to  the  hospital,  and  he  died.  He  will  not  come  back 
again." 

"And  your  mother?" 

"She's  gone  to  work  —  come  in!" 

The  child  hobbled  before  him  to  the  little  room  where  he 
spent  his  days.  From  the  window  could  be  seen  the  iron  roofs 
of  the  mine  buildings,  the  yellow  smoke  cloud  above  the 
smelter,  and  the  copper  wires  of  the  transmission  lines.  It 
was  the  child's  horizon. 

"See!"  the  child  said,  pointing  to  a  row  of  quartz  specimens 
on  the  window  ledge.  "Mother  brought  them  from  the  mine. 
That  one  has  gold  in  it."  With  his  small  white  finger  he 
pointed  to  a  tiny  flake  of  metal.  "And  this  green  one's 
copper.  Don't  they  look  pretty  in  the  sun?" 

A  cat  brushed  against  the  boy,  and  the  child  lifted  her  into 
his  lap. 

OCQ 


FOR  "  WHAT  IS  LIFE  ?  "  THE  SOUL  DEMANDS    289 

"She's  going  to  have  kittens,"  he  said.  "Mother  says  I 
can  keep  two  of  them." 

He  sat  and  talked  with  the  child. 

"Do  you  stay  here  all  alone?"  he  asked. 

"Most  days.  Mother  comes  home  for  dinner  generally  — 
she's  coming  to-day.  When  she  can't  come  she  puts  some 
thing  on  the  fire  for  me  and  Lize  —  that's  the  cat." 

And  the  child  talked  on  about  the  smelter,  the  cat,  his  bits 
of  quartz,  while  Hugh  waited  for  the  mother  to  return.  He 
had  known  these  people  in  the  years  he  had  spent  among  the 
mountains.  The  man  had  worked  for  him.  .  .  .  When  the 
woman  returned  from  her  work,  he  learned  of  the  accident  in 
the  power-house  which  had  killed  her  husband  after  an  opera 
tion  in  the  hospital. 

"It  was  his  heart  that  was  weak,"  she  explained.  "It  had 
been  weak  ever  since  the  great  storm  two  winters  ago  when  we 
were  living  up  the  mountain.  The  boy  was  sick,  and  he  went 
for  some  medicine.  He  was  like  to  die  in  the  snow  before  he  got 
back.  He  fell  in  the  drifts  over  and  over,  but  he  crawled  to 
the  cabin  with  the  medicine.  That  was  the  beginning," 
she  said  softly,  as  if  the  stern  memory  were  sweet. 

"And  now?"  asked  Hugh,  "what  do  you  do?" 

"Now,"  said  the  woman,  with  a  weary  look  in  her  dark  eyes, 
"we  live  as  best  we  can,  me  and  the  boy.  I  get  a  bit  of  work 
here  and  there  —  some  days  little  and  some  days  more.  But 
we  live!" 

"See!"  cried  the  child,  pointing  to  the  bits  of  quartz,  which 
he  had  arranged  in  a  little  heap.  "See  the  sun  on  'em 
now!" 

"The  doctor  thinks  he'll  be  going  to  school  in  the  fall," 
said  the  mother,  smiling  at  the  crippled  child.  "If  there 
were  only  a  life  for  him!" 

She  turned  to  the  insistent  need  —  food. 

"You  will  stay  and  eat  with  us,"  she  said  briskly,  stirring 


290  A   LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

her  fire.  "If  only  Jim  were  here  to  see  you  back  —  you  were 
good  to  him  —  gave  him  his  chance,  but  it  was  not  to  be  for 
him!" 

She  glanced  again  at  the  crippled  child,  who  was  playing 
with  his  bits  of  rock,  talking  to  himself,  peopling  his  little 
world.  And  somehow  it  seemed  to  the  wanderer  that  there 
was  life  in  this  room  of  the  small  cottage  with  the  crippled 
child  and  the  weary  mother.  And  the  mother's  glance  con 
firmed  it. 

For  what  is  life?  he  asked  himself,  following  up  the  moun 
tain  those  glistening  wires  that  sang  with  their  message  of 
Power.  Here  in  this  country,  winged  like  an  arrow  with 
ambition  and  love,  he  had  striven  as  men  strive  —  for  life. 
The  ready  servant  of  capital,  he  had  harnessed  these  moun 
tain  snows  to  breed  gold  for  his  masters :  he  had  strung  these 
shining  wires  across  the  land  and  helped  forge  the  paper 
fetters  that  would  bind  in  labor  unborn  generations.  The 
wires  ran  past  the  poor  woman's  cottage  with  their  life-giving 
burden  of  heat  and  light,  and  entered  the  rich  man's  mine. 
It  was  work  well  done!  He  paused  by  the  great  dam  that 
held  the  water  from  the  snows  in  reserve,  then  passed  on 
upwards  to  the  source.  And  he  knew  that  never  again  could 
he  be  the  obedient  finger  in  the  hand  of  power  to  bind  the 
paper  fetters  on  his  fellow-men!  In  that  pilgrimage  over  the 
face  of  the  country  he  had  seen  the  hard  labors  of  men,  the 
ceaseless  effort  of  human  life  to  live,  —  a  life  for  a  life.  He 
would  not  eat  the  bread  of  others.  Life!  Food  and  shelter 
and  warmth  for  the  body,  a  chance  to  breed  their  kind,  —  the 
life  of  the  multitude,  life  elemental.  Such  was  the  sum  for 
the  many,  day  by  day,  month  by  month,  season  after  season, 
until  the  spark  of  vital  will  burned  out,  and  upon  their  ashes 
rose  the  generations  to  come.  .  .  .  But  is  that  life?  his  soul 
demanded. 


FOR  "  WHAT  IS  LIFE  ?  "  THE  SOUL  DEMANDS    291 

"Give  us  life!'7  the  Anarch  cried  in  hate.  "Give  us  our 
life  for  yours.  Give  us  more  food,  more  shelter,  more  joy 
from  your  horde."  A  quarrel  over  the  fleshpot  and  the  fire. 
The  Anarch  would  wrest  from  the  strong  a  richer  food,  a 
better  bed,  an  idler  day.  But  life  lay  neither  in  the  fleshpot 
nor  the  fire.  "Give  us  freedom!"  the  Anarch  snarled.  "Free 
dom  to  do  our  will!"  Swift  motion,  delights  of  eye  and  ear, 
all  the  cunning  wonders  of  the  world  wrapped  in  pride  and 
possession.  "Give  us  power,  freedom,  delight."  Would  life 
come  thus  in  its  fullest? 

The  strong  did  not  possess  life.  The  great  plunderer  with 
all  the  lawless  freedom  of  the  earth  could  not  get  life !  Neither 
Alexander  Arnold  with  his  greedy  arm,  nor  the  banker  Whiting, 
nor  the  skilful  juggler  with  the  people's  law  had  life  more  than 
the  crippled  child  below  with  his  bits  of  colored  rock.  Nay, 
Alexandra  herself,  rich  bloom  of  power  and  possession,  might 
have  less  than  the  weary  woman  in  the  little  house  fighting 
for  her  child.  It  was  ever  escaping,  this  thing  that  man  calls 
life.  It  lay  not  in  the  senses;  it  would  not  come  at  com 
mand.  The  singing  wires  did  not  create  it,  nor  add  to  it. 
It  was  hid  in  some  intimate,  silent  place  within  each.  Men 
fought  like  beasts  for  life,  but  it  escaped  in  the  strife!  Neither 
food  nor  drink,  neither  pride  nor  possession,  gave  life.  Swift 
speed  and  control  of  others  made  power,  but  not  life.  It 
was  ever  escaping,  —  like  the  invisible  waves  of  ether  radiat 
ing  forth  from  some  mysterious  centre,  waking  what  they 
touched.  .  .  . 

He  came  to  that  distant  Valley  of  the  Seven  Peaks,  whose 
lonely  rushing  waters  he  had  helped  the  hand  of  power  to 
grasp.  The  conquest  of  this  remote  source  of  power  had  been 
his  special  triumph.  He  knelt  to  free  a  small  tree  that  had 
been  crushed  by  the  heedless  laborer.  Even  this  sprout  of 
the  forest  had  its  life  to  live !  .  .  .  .  Here  in  this  valley  he  had 
been  with  the  woman  he  loved;  through  storm  and  dark  he  had 


292  A   LIFE  FOR  A   LIFE 

borne  her  in  his  arms.  Ah,  then  life  was  precious  to  him, 
filled  with  desire  and  joy!  Now  she  was  afar  off,  hid  in  a 
cloud,  removed  from  him.  So  it  was  with  the  mysterious 
color  of  the  mind,  now  gray  and  empty,  like  the  uncertain 
earth  before  sunrise,  now  aflame  with  desire  and  will,  like 
kindling  dawn.  That  was  life!  It  flooded  full  or  ebbed  like 
the  tides  obedient  to  unknown  laws.  The  crippled  child 
might  have  life  abundantly,  and  Alexander  Arnold  might  be 
dead.  For  there  was  no  certain  way  by  which  to  get  life. 

So  let  the  Anarch's  victorious  army  slay  its  enemies  in 
blind  hate.  At  the  dawn  of  victory  would  the  victors  possess 
life?  Theirs  the  plunder  and  the  power.  But  life  would 
vanish,  —  oh,  unconquerable,  unpossessable  life !  It  lay 
between  the  stars  and  the  earth  in  flood,  but  the  hands  that 
would  grasp  it  came  back  empty. 

At  last  he  reached  the  crest  among  the  lofty  peaks,  still 
seeking.  The  light  went  out  of  the  sky,  and  the  earth  sank 
from  sight  below.  The  mountains  folded  him  about  in  silence, 
and  thus  he  lay  as  in  sleep  that  was  still  waking.  The  blind 
race  of  his  years  was  unfolded  to  him,  from  childhood  until 
now.  He  had  taken  the  words  of  his  fellows,  lived  as  they 
lived,  eaten  with  them  and  desired  the  things  that  they  had 
desired.  He  had  striven  for  the  prizes,  got  money  as  they 
got  money,  seeking  life  as  they  sought  it  in  desire.  He  had 
loved,  —  desired  her  who  was  beautiful  and  abundant,  sweet 
and  joyous.  But  life  had  not  come. 

And  in  the  night  she  who  had  been  hid  all  these  days  came 
to  him,  the  woman  of  his  vision,  and  he  held  her  close  —  the 
woman  beneath  all,  the  one  he  had  seen  at  dawn,  the  one  he 
had  borne  in  his  arms  upon  the  mountain,  the  one  he  had 
loved  always. 

"Come!"  she  whispered.     "I  wait  within!" 

"I  come,"  he  said,  "for  thee,  Alexandra!" 

For  life  is  a  flame  of  will,  a  vision  of  the  spirit !    And  that  is  all. 


FOR  "  WHAT  IS  LIFE  ?  "  THE  SOUL  DEMANDS    293 

At  dawn  there  was  revealed  the  ocean  of  plain,  —  gray,  un 
certain,  vague.  The  sun  rose  out  of  the  gulf  among  the  stars, 
calling  men  about  the  earth  to  live.  Each  must  go  his  way 
in  labor,  waking  to  an  earth  made  within,  changing  as  he 
changed,  —  earth  various  and  wonderful  in  which  his  little 
part  was  to  be  done.  And  the  wanderer  standing  alone  on 
the  waking  earth  at  dawn  knew  what  was  within  him 
that  must  be  done. 

A  man  came  down  from  the  mountains,  a  man  new  made, 
resolute,  set  upon  his  path.  The  world  was  unfolding  in 
all  the  loveliness  of  the  golden  morning  light  before  him,  — 
the  world  neither  of  the  Anarch  nor  of  the  Plunderer. 


XXXII 


THE  touch  of  autumn  had  come  to  Paradise  Valley;  the 
leaves  had  begun  to  fall  on  the  hillsides,  light  golden  leaves, 
falling  one  by  one  softly  in  a  windless  calm.  The  radiant 
summer  sunshine  still  filled  the  meadows  at  the  close  of  the 
day.  Only  the  red  blossoms  of  the  meadow  flowers  by  the 
river  edge  and  the  slowly  falling  leaves,  slipping  silently  from 
the  trees  to  the  dry  earth,  bespoke  the  coming  change. 

The  woman  in  the  garden,  the  mistress  of  Paradise  Valley, 
rose  from  her  seat  beneath  a  bronze  beech-tree  and  slowly 
walked  toward  the  fountain  in  the  centre.  The  mood  of 
change  touched  her :  she  listened  to  the  murmur  of  the  water 
flowing  from  the  fountain  downward  among  the  reeds,  and 
she  listened  to  her  heart  which  also  spoke  of  change,  —  the 
flitting  to  a  scene  beyond.  But  here  in  the  silent  garden, 
with  the  golden  haze  of  the  day  falling  from  the  tall  poplars 
downward  at  her  feet,  there  was  a  mood  of  sadness  in  her  heart, 
though  a  smile  upon  her  lips.  Life  had  brought  so  many 
things,  so  much  golden  pleasure  to  her  lap,  but  to-day,  it 
seemed,  it  had  not  brought  the  perfect  thing.  Per 
chance  it  lay  beyond!  Yet  even  the  color  of  change  had 
faded,  and  variety  become  stale.  ...  A  full  brown  leaf 
fell  at  her  feet,  and  stooping  she  picked  it  up.  The 
scent  had  its  fragrant  memory:  she  smiled  at  the  faded 
leaf,  then  tossed  it  from  her,  and  in  eagerness  held  out 
her  hands  to  the  open  future,  that  marvellous  casket  of 
never-failing  promise. 


"I  RETURN  TO  MY  PEOPLE"  295 

Steps  came  slowly  up  the  terrace,  and  stopped.  She  turned, 
the  smile  dying  from  her  lips,  her  head  raised  in  proud  ex 
pectation. 

"Alexandra ! "  The  sound  of  her  name  was  faint  in  the  still 
air. 

She  waited,  her  eyes  grave  with  inquiry.  One  foot  rested 
upon  the  dead  leaf,  and  beneath  her  garment  her  body  seemed 
to  quiver  as  if  ready  for  flight.  Her  raised  head  was  level  with 
his,  and  her  eyes  meeting  his  demanded  reason  for  his  being 
there. 

" It  is  a  long  time!"  he  murmured,  his  eyes  wandering  over 
the  still  garden,  down  the  curving  meadows  to  the  forest, — 
"a  long,  long  time!  Another  world!" 

He  passed  his  hand  over  his  face  as  though  he  would  brush 
the  mist  of  years  from  his  vision. 

"It  is  a  long  time!"  She  was  thinking  of  that  night 
when  she  had  expected  him  at  her  ball  and  her 
heart  had  been  ready  to  betray  her  head.  Then  he 
had  not  come,  nor  sent  word,  and  pride  had  stung  her. 
...  In  the  pause  her  eyes  passed  over  him,  noting  his 
travel- worn  garments,  his  uncut  beard,  the  careless  guise  of  the 
man  who  has  lost  sense  of  appearance.  And  her  proud  glance 
seemed  to  ask  why  he  had  returned  at  last  like  this,  —  as  some 
servant  from  the  fields,  —  to  her. 

11 1  come  from  a  long  journey,"  he  said  with  firmer  voice, 
his  eyes  challenging  hers. 

"Why  do  you  come  now?" 

"Because  of  what  lies  unfinished." 

"Lies  unfinished  between  you  and  me  ?" 

Her  hostile  glance  denied  that  aught  had  ever  been  between 
them. 

"  Perhaps,  between  you  and  me!  " 

The  tremulous  note  in  his  voice,  the  worn  face  of  the  man, 
softened  her  mood,  and  she  said  more  gently :  — 


296  A  LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

"I  thought  that  you  had  left  us  —  forever!" 

Her  voice  was  full  of  a  lingering  reproach. 

"That  night  I  left  you,"  he  said,  "I  left  all  the  world  I  had 
ever  known!" 

"Why?" 

"Because  it  was  not  my  world." 

"It  was  mine!" 

"  True !  And  for  that  reason  I  had  tried  to  make  it  mine  — 
to  follow  where  you  led,  to  do  what  you  would  have  done,  to  be 
what  you  would  have  a  man  become ! " 

She  waited,  with  smiling  lips. 

"So  I  thought  to  reach  you,  Alexandra,  —  to  reach  the  ut 
most  joy  for  me.  But  it  was  the  wrong  path  —  I  could  not 
reach  you  there." 

"I  waited  for  you,"  she  murmured. 

His  eyes  gleamed,  and  he  drew  nearer. 

"But  it  could  not  be  there  —  not  there!"  he  exclaimed. 
"Not  in  the  struggle  — not  in  the  glory — not  in  the  splendor. 
That  is  not  the  woman  I  seek!" 

"I  do  not  understand!" 

"I  was  poor  and  unknown.  I  came  to  you  by  chance,  like 
the  moth  across  the  hills  from  another  land.  I  loved 
you!" 

Her  eyes  met  his;  her  lips  opened;  she  listened  as  to  a 
melody  from  afar. 

"  Once  I  bore  you  in  my  arms !  Alexandra !  And  you  loved 
me  —  you  found  something  in  me  that  was  mate  and  equal,  — 
in  me,  the  unknown!" 

Her  lowered  eyes  assented. 

"Then  why — "  she  murmured,  in  reproach. 

"So  I  was  winged  like  an  arrow  to  reach  you,  spurred  with 
ambition  and  desire.  I  would  enter  your  world  and  demand 
you  as  an  equal,  there  —  all,  the  whole  of  you,  as  I  had  already 
my  part  —  the  better  part." 


"I  RETURN  TO  MY  PEOPLE"  297 

She  smiled  tenderly;  her  breath  touched  his  face,  the  con 
quering  sweetness  of  herself. 

"So  I  sped  forth  into  the  arena  whither  you  pointed  out  the 
way,  —  there  to  earn  the  crown  of  success  that  you  would 
demand,  to  win  my  love!" 

His  voice  trembled  and  was  low. 

"I  did  as  all  must  do  who  would  grasp  desire,  possess.  I 
was  the  willing  servant  of  others,  while  you  fluttered  on  your 
golden  way  beyond  my  reach.  .  .  .  Then  there  came  to  me 
the  truth." 

"What  truth?" 

"That  you  and  yours,  that  this  bright  world  you  breathe 
and  live  in,  that  I  myself  in  seeking  you  —  all  was  wrought 
with  evil.  And  the  woman  I  loved  was  not  there!" 

His  voice  broke,  and  he  finished  with  a  gesture. 

" I  was  not  there? "  she  repeated.  "I  do  not  understand. 
You  left  me  —  you  went  away  —  "  she  glanced  at  his  rough 
clothes  —  "you  gave  up  your  life.  ...  I  do  not  under 
stand." 

Her  eyes  still  met  his  softly,  calling  to  him,  "  Why  reason, 
why  words  ?  There  is  that  between  us  which  is  deeper  than 
words." 

"The  night  I  left  you  I  was  taken  into  hell!" 

Slowly  he  retraced  for  her  in  words  the  steps  of  his  long 
pilgrimage  with  the  Anarch. 

"And  as  I  went  from  place  to  place,  day  by  day,  you  faded 
farther  from  my  sight,  you  and  all  the  world  about  you,  until 
you  were  buried  in  a  cloud.  Then  I  went  back  there  upon  the 
mountains,  and  in  the  night  I  found  you  again — my 
Alexandra!  And  for  her,  the  woman  I  love,  I  have  come." 

"What  will  you  do  now?"  she  asked  doubtfully. 

Quietly,  as  from  a  depth  of  unseen  purpose/^he  answered :  — 

"I  shall  return  to  my  people  —  " 

"The  foundling!" 


298  A  LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

\*. 
The  taunt  escaped,  half  willed. 

"Yes  —  you  have  said  it!  I  was  the  foundling  —  the 
naked.  And  now  I  return  to  my  people  —  the  unknown." 

'You  who  might  have  had  all!'  said  her  flaming  eyes. 

"  I  am  the  foundling ! "  He  held  out  his  hands,  almost  touch 
ing  her,  and  his  eyes  became  bright  with  a  new  light.  "And 
you  love  me,  as  I  am  —  the  foundling.  I  go  to  my  people. 
Come  with  me,  now,  as  you  are,  alone  with  me  into  the  world ! " 

"Alone  with  you  into  the  world?"  she  questioned. 
^  "Into  the  bare,  hard  world,  without  one  privilege,  one  soft 
advantage  —  life  as  it  is  for  the  foundlings.     Most  are  found 
lings!" 

"And  what  should  I  find  there?" 

"Love!  Let  me  make  the  world  for  you  with  my  love. 
Is  it  not  enough?  You  are  proud  with  the  pride  of  your  kind. 
But  I  am  prouder  than  you.  I  would  have  the  woman  I  love 
alone,  as  my  equal,  content  to  go  forth  into  life  alone  with  me 
as  my  mate,  unknown,  unfriended,  with  neither  privilege 
nor  place,  with  neither  fortune  nor  position.  I  would  that 
love  should  be  enough  for  her  as  for  me,  and  my  world  hers. 
Come!"  he  said,  his  arms  closing  about  her.  "I  would  bear 
you  in  my  arms  over  the  rough,  steep  way  up  to  the  peaks  of 
the  mountains.  And  I  would  be  borne  in  yours  —  nothing 
else."" 

She  swayed  within  the  closing  circle  of  his  arms,  smiling 
happily  as  she  had  smiled  before  upon  the  mountains,  her 
eyes  shining  softly  at  the  flood  of  his  passion. 

"You  want  all,  my  lover!" 

"All!  Or  nothing!"  he  laughed.  "Tis  the  complete  ego 
tism  of  love.  All,  I  demand — and  I  offer  nothing  but  love 
in  return,  neither  comfort  nor  power.  Where  I  starve  you 
will  starve.  Where  I  fight  the  battles  of  my  people,  you  will 
fight  and  suffer.  Thus  we  shall  be  equals  in  fate  as  in  love 
—  and  only  thus." 


"I  RETURN  TO  MY  PEOPLE"  299 

She  looked  up  to  his  face  wonderingly. 

"But  why  leave  all  that  is  beautiful  —  all  this?" 

"Because  it  is  death.     I  have  seen  the  evil  of  it — " 

"To  me  it  is  not  evil." 

"To  the  woman  whom  I  love  it  is  death!  To  the  Alex 
andra  who  loves  me  it  is  death!" 

"Therefore  I  must  set  forth  from  my  father's  house  a 
beggar,  and  follow  where  you  lead  to  the  ends  of  the 
earth!" 

She  uttered  a  rippling,  mirthful  laugh,  but  it  died  before 
his  devouring  eyes. 

"You  do  not  understand!  You  cannot  see  the  blood  and 
the  flesh  that  you  eat." 

She  drew  from  his  circling  arms  and  stepped  away. 

"Your  words  are  bitter!" 

"Because  the  thing  is  bitter.     It  is  a  life  for  a  life  — " 

"A  life  for  a  life?" 

"Your  life  against  many  others,  many,  many  —  far,  far 
down  —  among  the  silent  multitude." 

"But  I  do  not  know  them,"  she  said,  with  perplexed  eyes. 
"I  do  not  care  for  your  many,  many  others.  My  life  is 
good  to  me." 

Her  silvery  tone  was  edged  with  coldness.  She  looked  at 
him  mockingly,  aware  of  her  beauty,  the  loveliness  of  the 
scene  about  her,  the  completeness  of  herself,  here  in  Paradise 
Valley  on  this  autumn  afternoon.  And  the  man,  haggard 
with  burning  desire  that  consumed  all  reason,  would  conquer 
by  his  passion. 

"Come  with  me  because  of  love,  the  love  now  between  us 
and  the  greater  love  to  be.  Come  with  me  to  my  fate,  poverty 
and  hunger  it  may  be,  and  in  our  love  you  will  understand 
all!" 

"That  is  not  the  way  to  speak  to  the  heart  of  a  woman!" 
she  said  proudly.  "Tell  me  to  come  with  you  to  victory, 


300  A  LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

to  achievement,  to  the  fulness  of  life  —  and  I  will  follow  you 
to  the  ends  of  your  earth." 

All  the  still  beauty  of  the  golden  day  lay  in  her  inviting  self. 
Why  debate,  she  seemed  to  whisper  through  yielding  lips! 
Why  speak  foolish  things?  For  I  will  love  you,  and  I  can  give 
you  all  that  will  make  life  beautiful,  wonderful,  joyous.  So 
take  me,  adore  me,  be  mine  solely  as  I  will  be  yours.  And  in 
my  arms  you  will  see  with  eyes  renewed,  you  will  taste  with 
eager  lips  of  desire,  and  become  strong!  And  through  her 
open  lips  the  breath  fluttered  warm  against  his  face. 

"  That  would  be  the  lie  of  lies/'  he  whispered.  "  You  must 
be  mine  as  I  am — " 

"Yours?" 

"To  deny  all  that  you  have  known,  all  that  your  father 
has  made  you,  all  that  he  is  and  has  been." 

"My  father!" 

A  new  pride  rang  in  her  voice.  "You  would  have  me  deny 
my  father?" 

"Yes, — him  and  his  friends,  your  friends  —  all  that  has 
made  this!" 

His  gesture  swept  the  pleasant  scene  below  them. 

"Because?"     She  waited  fearlessly  for  the  coming  word. 

"Because  they  are  thieves  and  murderers,  each  in  his 
way!" 

"Thieves  and  murderers!" 

"Not  upon  the  highroad.  .  .  .  But  they  live  upon  de 
feated  hopes,  unfulfilled  lives." 

"The  foundling  comes  a  pretty  way  to  make  love  to  my 
father's  daughter." 

"The  Alexandra  I  love  is  not  of  the  blood  of  thief  and 
murderer." 

"Again  thief  and  murderer!  ...  I  am  my  father's 
daughter,  and  I  love  the  world  he  has  made  into  which  I  was 
born.  I  love  the  power  and  the  luxury  and  the  beauty,  no 
V 


"I  RETURN  TO  MY  PEOPLE"  301 

matter  whose  blood  is  spilled  in  the  getting.  ...  I  find  it 
all  good!  Only  the  weak  abuse  it!" 

The  daughter  of  Alexander  Arnold  answered  the  found 
ling's  fire  with  fire  —  and  taunt.  They  faced  each  other  in 
silence  for  moments,  while  the  leaves  dropped  stilly  from 
overhead  and  fell  at  their  feet. 

"Then  it  is  as  it  was  meant  to  be!"  the  man  said  slowly. 
"And  I  must  go  my  way,  alone." 

As  equals,  yet  separated  by  a  deep  gulf,  they  stood  looking 
fixedly,  each  into  the  soul  of  the  other,  and  knew  that  one  must 
yield.  He  made  as  if  he  would  take  her  with  his  hands,  sweep 
her  to  him  in  spite  of  all.  But  she  drew  her  garment  from  the 
touch  of  his  fingers,  and  turned  away. 

"I  will  leave  you  with  the  thief  and  the  murderer!"  she 
said,  pointing  up  the  garden. 

There  by  the  fountain  stood  Alexander  Arnold,  watching 
them. 


XXXIII 

THE  MEETING   OF  EQUALS 

IN  the  sunny  open  garden  Alexander  Arnold  seemed  to 
have  shrunken  into  something  less  than  his  real  stature.  It 
was  the  same  erect  figure,  the  same  deep  eyes  that  ever  ques 
tioned  but  never  answered,  the  same  expression  of  silent  will. 
But  physically  here  in  the  open  of  the  smiling  earth  he  who 
made  such  stir  in  the  affairs  of  men  was  a  small  creature. 

As  Hugh  walked  slowly  toward  the  little  old  man,  the 
brown  eyes  examined  him  with  a  curious  expression,  as  though 
what  they  had  just  seen  was  food  for  unexpected  thought. 
And  he  spoke  first,  bowing  slightly :  — 

"You  came  to  see  my  daughter?" 

"And  you  also!  .  .  .  She  has  answered  me.  .  .  .  My 
business  with  you  will  not  detain  us  long." 

Arnold  listened,  neither  denying  nor  admitting  any  interest 
whatsoever  in  the  being  before  him. 

"As  you  may  know,"  Hugh  began,  "it  is  now  some  time 
since  I  left  the  world  of  your  interests,  abandoned  my 
service  there.  But  before  I  wholly  leave  that  world  and 
sink  into  utter  obscurity  beyond  your  sight,  there  are  some 
things  to  be  made  plain  between  us,  and  I  have  chosen  to 
say  them  to  you,  face  to  face.  .  .  .  Many  years  ago,  you 
cheated  an  honest  man,  one  David  Grant.  Oh,  it  was  a 
small  matter  of  a  few  acres  of  land,  which  you  stole  from 
him  and  others  with  him.  That  theft  was  the 
first  broad  stone  on  which  you  piled  the  foundations  of 
your  fortune.  I  know  the  story,  —  the  story  of  the  Alexandra 
mines.  I  have  followed  in  your  footsteps  across  the  country." 


THE  MEETING  OF  EQUALS  303 

The  old  man  listened  and  made  no  sign,  of  anger  or  disdain. 

"When  I  came  to  your  door  and  knocked  as  a  boy,  ignorant 
of  all,  you  chose  to  befriend  me  —  perhaps  because  of  the 
wrong  done  long  before  to  old  David  Grant;  perhaps  because 
you  divined  in  me  even  then  the  capacity  of  a  useful  tool." 

As  he  spoke  he  remembered  that  first  time  he  had  met 
Arnold  on  the  steps  of  his  great  house  in  the  City.  Then  as  an 
ignorant  youth  he  had  no  fear  of  the  man  of  power,  and  now 
as  a  free  man  he  had  no  fear  of  him.  All  the  vast  inequality 
between  them  had  faded  in  his  knowledge  of  the  truth. 

"One  of  the  things  that  I  have  come  to  say  is  that  I  am  not 
the  son  of  David  Grant,  the  honest  old  man  you  cheated,  — 
merely  a  foundling  picked  up  from  a  haymow  by  him  and 
fostered.  It  is  little  matter  who  I  am.  At  first  I  did  not 
explain  because  I  hoped  for  favor  from  you  and  feared  you 
might  not  grant  it  if  you  knew  I  was  not  of  the  old  man's  blood. 
There  was,  as  you  see,  this  small  lie  between  us  from  the 
beginning.  It  ends  here.  ...  I  did  not  come  again  into 
your  path  until  that  day  when  you  were  using  your  great 
power  to  throttle  some  rivals,  and  incidentally  helped  to 
bring  on  one  of  the  miserable  panics  that  serve  to  fatten 
you  and  your  kind  and  mean  woe  to  many  thousands.  I 
knew  your  thought.  You  were  afraid  of  me  because  I  knew, 
and  so  you  kept  me  here  until  the  deed  was  accomplished. 
That  led  to  other  things,  little  dreamed  by  you!  When 
you  saw  that  I  had  wit  enough  to  divine  your  plan  and 
would  not  betray  you,  you  thought  well  of  me.  From  that 
moment  my  own  future  was  assured,  if  I  could  seize  the  oppor 
tunity  offered  —  that  'larger  horizon '  you  once  spoke  of.  I 
seized  it!  I  proved  that  I  was  made  of  the  metal  that  could 
be  used,  and  I  rose  fast  toward  command,  —  oh,  very  close  to 
command  in  the  great  power  company  of  yours  — " 

For  the  first  time  the  impassive  lips  opened  in  a  sneer. 

"I  beg  to  correct  you  again,  as  I  did  once  before,  I  believe. 


304  A  LIFE  FOR  A   LIFE 

The  company  you  refer  to  is  not  mine.  Like  the  ignorant 
public,  you  do  me  altogether  too  much  honor.  I  am  not  yet 
the  Omnipotent  as  you  would  like  to  believe !" 

The  younger  man  swept  the  subterfuge  aside  impatiently. 

"The  certificates  of  ownership  may  now  stand  in  other 
names,  I  have  no  doubt.  But  the  blind  public  is  right  in 
ascribing  to  you  the  chief  power.  Yours  is  the  will  —  behind 
—  in  this  as  in  so  much  else  that  is  evil.  Yours  is  the  spirit, 
dominating  others,  controlling,  pointing  the  way!  What 
matters  it  whether  for  your  convenience  you  choose  to  hide 
beneath  alien  names  ?  " 

"I  tell  you!"  the  old  man  cried  irritably,  "I  don't  own  a 
thousand  shares  of  stock  in  that  company." 

"Then  you  have  already  accomplished  the  second  step  of  the 
game.  You  have  sold  your  creation  to  the  ignorant  public. 
You  have  put  the  poison  into  circulation  so  that  your  victims 
may  participate  in  their  own  destruction!" 

Arnold  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  turned  away. 

"If  you  come  to  discuss  business — " 

"Not  merely  business!" 

The  old  man  looked  about  the  empty  garden,  as  if  in  search 
of  some  one. 

"You  need  have  no  fear,  sir!" 

At  the  word  "fear,"  the  old  man  wheeled  with  an  angry 
flush. 

"I  merely  wished  to  escape  a  bore,"  he  sneered.  "Perhaps 
the  quickest  way  is  to  hear  him  out.  Pray  proceed." 

The  insult  passed  unheeded  over  Hugh  Grant's  head,  and 
he  continued  slowly:  — 

"For  a  time  I  labored,  if  not  for  you,  at  least  in  the  machine 
that  you  helped  to  create;  if  not  for  your  personal  profit,  for 
that  of  your  allies  and  associates,  as  well  as  my  own!  I  had  a 
reason  of  the  deepest  sort  to  fire  my  will." 

His  voice  broke,  and  he  said  in  an  altered  key :  — 


THE  MEETING  OF  EQUALS  305 

"I  loved  your  daughter!" 

The  sneer  faded  from  Arnold's  lips;  he  looked  at  the  younger 
man  with  renewed  interest. 

"The  path  to  her,  it  seemed,  lay  upward  by  the  steps  of 
power,  and  I  took  it,  dared  to  hope.  Oh,  it  must  appear  to 
you  the  height  of  ignorant  folly,  that  I,  the  foundling,  old 
David  Grant's  charity,  the  poor  bank  clerk,  could  aspire  to 
your  daughter.  But  that,  sir,  is  the  blind  way  of  youth,  and 
not  uncommon  in  past  days.  In  our  country  the  child  is 
taught  ambition  with  his  letters,  you  know.  And  further,  I 
felt  that  in  her  eyes  it  was  not  —  impossible." 

The  old  man  smiled  inscrutably. 

"For  there  was  something  in  her  that  called  to  me  and 
something  in  me  that  answered,  always  —  something  that 
had  no  part  in  all  the  rich  ornament  of  her  existence." 

"You  mean,"  said  the  father,  with  a  curious  dulness  of 
tone,  "my  daughter  loved  you?" 

"Yes!" 

The  affirmation  rang  exultantly  in  the  still  air,  and  in  a 
lower  tone  Hugh  added,  "And  still  loves  me!" 

The  old  man  quickly  raised  his  head,  and  his  sharp  eyes 
searched  for  the  truth  in  the  other. 

"So  with  this  burning  hope  I  planned  and  strove.  I  was 
the  ready  ringer  that  played  in  the  hand  of  others  to  grasp, 
to  possess.  My  eyes  saw  but  the  woman  I  loved,  and  were 
blind  to  all  else  before  me.  And  then!"  He  paused,  imper 
ceptibly  straightened  himself,  and  his  voice  rang  with  another 
passion.  "I  began  to  see  little  by  little  the  meaning  of  things, 
along  the  steps  of  power.  There  was  a  light,  and  the  light 
has  been  growing  brighter,  clearer.  I  went  to  the  Capitol, 
and  there  saw  how  the  law  is  distorted  to  obtain  your  ends, 
how  it  is  made  to  get  your  ends —  With  a  gesture  he 
stopped,  then  added,  as  to  himself,  — •  "what  it  all  means!  I 
understood  —  at  last." 


306  A  LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

"You  do  not  make  it  clear  to  me." 

"Not  yet?  I  can!  These  last  months  while  I  have  been 
lost  to  your  world  I  have  not  been  idle.  I  have  sought  out 
the  truth  of  reports  heard  before.  I  know  how  the  Universal 
Power  Company  is  built  upon  fraud  from  its  first  inception, 
fraud  here,  there,  and  everywhere  —  fraud  in  land,  fraud  in 
law,  fraud  in  stock.  And  I  have  the  proof.  It  was  my  hand, 
remember,  that  helped  put  the  thing  together." 

"What  of  it?" 

"From  here  I  go  to  Washington." 

"Fool,"  the  old  man  murmured,  "or  blackmailer?" 

"Not  that!  I  did  not  come  to  you  for  money.  But  I  do 
not  strike  from  behind,  as  you  have  done,  in  the  dark,  secretly. 
I  tell  you  first  what  I  am  about  to  do.  Because  I  have  been 
your  servant  —  in  fact  if  not  in  name  —  and  have  left  your 
service,  I  come  to  you,  the  master  whom  I  am  about  to  betray, 
and  warn  him.  .  .  .  For  of  all  the  dark  future  but  one  matter 
is  clear  —  I  will  spend  myself  to  set  right  so  far  as  I  can  that 
small  part  of  the  coil  of  evil  which  I  have  blindly  helped  to 
create.  If  I  can  ruin  this  enterprise  by  use  of  any  knowledge 
I  happen  to  have,  I  shall  do  it." 

"You  will  tell  a  story  to  the  public  that  may  make  a  few 
hours'  sensation,"  the  old  man  sneered.  "What  good  will 
that  do?" 

"We  shall  see." 

"Who  bought  you?" 

The  curt  tone  brought  the  blood  to  the  younger  man's  face. 

"Can  you  understand  only  one  reason  for  all  action?" 

"Either  you  have  been  bought  —  or  you  are  the  simplest 
fool  it  has  ever  been  my  lot  to  meet.  .  .  .  And  once  I 
thought  you  were  an  able  man!" 

"If  I  had  wished  money,"  the  other  replied  with  plentiful, 
irony,  "I  have  taken  the  wrong  road." 

"True!  .  .  .    You  have  lost  your  mind." 


THE  MEETING  OF  EQUALS  307 

"For  only  an  idiot  would  refuse  his  share  of  the  plunder? 
...  I  have  lost  more  than  money  —  more  than  reputation 
and  success  —  I  have  lost  all  to-day.  But  we  speak  a  differ 
ent  language,  sir.  ...  I  have  taken  too  much  of  your 
time." 

There  was  silence,  and  then  Arnold  said  ponderingly:  — 

"You  will  do  little  harm  to  me,  as  I  have  shown  you.  But 
you  will  possibly  do  harm  to  others,  many  others  who  are 
innocent  of  what  you  are  pleased  to  call  wrong  —  those  who 
hold  the  securities  of  the  power  company,  and  those  who 
own  other  property.  That  is  what  you  fanatics  never  con 
sider,  —  the  harm  you  do  ten  for  the  sake  of  punishing  one! 
It  is  not  as  simple  as  you  think,  —  to  make  society  over  all 
at  once." 

"I  do  not  expect  to  make  society  over." 

"Then  why  have  you  become  agitator?" 

"I  am  not  an  agitator.  I  merely  refuse  to  participate 
longer,  I  protest.  Remember,  I  have  been  in  the  ranks  of 
the  public  enemy  —  I  know  what  others  only  suspect.  I  have 
shared  in  the  plunder  of  thieves.  I  have  seen  how  the  weak 
are  made  to  pay  toll  of  their  little  to  the  strong.  I  know  the 
history  of  the  Alexandra  mines  as  well  as  of  the  Universal 
Power  Company.  I  have  learned  how  the  paper  fetters  are 
made  in  the  inner  offices  of  the  City,  then  sold  to  the  thrifty 
public.  .  .  .  And  I  know  what  it  means  in  sweat  and  blood 
for  the  multitude  to  pay  the  toll  on  these  paper  obliga 
tions.  And  I  know  what  you  do  not  realize,  —  that  you  and 
your  kind  have  sown  the  seed  of  hate  broadcast  throughout 
your  country.  Those  whom  you  have  skilfully  fastened  in 
bondage,  denying  to  them  the  just  reward  of  their  efforts, 
serve  you  in  hate  with  rebellious  hearts.  They  wait  that  day 
when  their  power,  another  sort  of  power  than  yours,  but 
equally  terrible,  will  meet  you  in  the  warfare  you  have  taught 
them.  You  have  made  a  hell,  a  seething  hell  of  greed  and 


308  A   LIFE   FOR  A   LIFE 

hate,  and  on  the  thin  crust  of  this  hell  you  are  comfortable. 
Some  day  that  hell  must  break  into  flame!  .  .  .  And  then?" 

The  old  man  smiled. 

"Prophecy  and  threats,  too!  I  have  heard  this  tale  of 
war  for  years.  But  the  world  rolls  on  pretty  much  the  same 
as  ever.  Those  who  have  the  power  get  what  they  want. 
There  are  too  many  comfortable  people  in  our  world  as  it  is, 
to  make  anarchy  successful." 

"Yes,  there  are  many  subtle  corruptions  — 

"Come!"  the  old  man  interrupted  impatiently.  "You 
have  used  hot  words  —  a  deal  of  fine  language.  Let  us  be 
plain.  If  you  were  in  my  place,  if  you  had  my  opportuni 
ties,  what  would  you  do?" 

A  smile  of  evil  mockery  lighted  the  shrewd  old  face. 

"I  know!  I  can  tell  you.  You  would  do  as  nearly  what 
I  do  as  you  had  the  ability.  I  know  men  —  I  know  you, 
better  perhaps  than  you  know  yourself.  You  would  use  your 
opportunities.  You  would  have  to !"  His  voice  sank  as  if  he 
were  speaking  to  himself.  "We  are  not  free,  as  you  think  us. 
We  do  not  choose  this  step  or  that  —  of  devilish  purpose.  We 
too  are  the  servants  of  circumstance,  as  others  are.  We  are 
caught  in  the  web  of  things  as  they  are.  We  cannot,  if  we 
would,  refuse  the  leadership  that  is  in  us,  or  worse  would 
result.  .  .  .  And  it  has  been  good,  that  which  we  have  had 
the  power  to  perform  —  good  for  all,  great  and  little,  that 
we  have  had  our  way,  —  I  and  my  kind,  as  you  say.  It  is  a 
richer,  better  world  than  it  was,  and  because  of  us. " 

He  believed  it.  Alexander  Arnold  never  lied,  least  of  all  to 
himself.  Whatever  lying  he  needed  was  done  for  him  by 
others.  And  in  the  years  to  come  the  partial  truth  of  his 
words  became  apparent  to  the  younger  man.  All  men,  strong 
and  weak,  were  caught  in  the  web  of  things  as  they  are. 

Nevertheless,  meeting  the  piercing  glance  of  the  old  man's 
eyes  as  an  equal,  Hugh  Grant  read  there  the  incarnate  will 


THE  MEETING  OF  EQUALS  309 

of  this  one,  and  he  knew  that  it  was  an  Evil  Will,  —  pure  self. 
Arnold's  was  the  only  human  soul  that  he  was  to  meet  in  the 
pathway  of  life  that  was  pure-wrought  of  one  metal.  In  all 
others  there  was  a  mixture  of  impulse,  —  a  strain  of  mercy, 
or  of  pity,  or  of  justice,  —  the  Other  Will.  But  the  flawless 
metal  of  this  man's  soul  was  the  Evil  Will.  It  spread  cold 
about  him. 

Arnold  turned  toward  his  great  house,  warm  in  the  setting 
sun,  surrounded  by  the  peaceful  gardens  and  the  smiling 
meadows,  set  apart  between  the  silent  hillsides.  He  looked 
at  the  young  man  by  his  side,  roughly  clad,  of  stern  face, 
and  he  said  listlessly:  — 

"That  power  company  which  seems  to  trouble  you  so  much, 
—  I  was  interested  in  it  chiefly  for  your  own  sake,  to  give  you  a 
chance  to  prove  yourself.  It  was  a  thing  that  had  to  be  done, 
and  others  would  have  taken  the  opportunity,  if  we  had  not 
done  so!'7 

The  old  man  smiled.  He  was  a  collector  of  men,  and  he 
did  not  make  many  mistakes  in  his  connoisseurship. 

" Think  well,  Grant!  Think  before  you  range  yourself 
hopelessly  on  the  other  side  —  with  the  feeble  and  the  in 
effective." 

Hugh  Grant  looked  into  the  brown  eyes  and  read  there  the 
bribe.  And  while  he  thought,  from  the  depths  of  the  earth 
in  the  Alexandra  mines,  from  the  roar  of  the  great  steel  mills, 
came  faintly  the  clamor  of  human  voices  in  one  cry,  "Give 
us  too  our  lives!" 

"I  have  thought!  .  .  .  Have  I  not  every  reason  that  man 
could  have  to  accept?" 

The  old  man  descended  even  to  argument. 

"See!"  he  said,  pointing,  with  a  smile  of  wisdom,  "that 
superb  lily  yonder  in  the  pool?  You  cannot  prevent  it  from 
growing  to  its  destined  size  and  color  and  fragrance  by  any 
pretty  theories.  From  the  common  earth  that  makes  the 


310  A   LIFE  FOR  A   LIFE 

duckweed  and  the  marsh  grass,  it  takes  the  elements  of  its 
splendor." 

He  turned  and  slowly  paced  the  path  toward  the  house. 
The  tall  trees  shed  their  worn  leaves  upon  the  gravel  path. 
He  stopped,  and  with  a  gesture  that  covered  the  meadows  and 
forest-clad  hills  of  his  estate,  he  said,  "Each  in  its  kind  grows 
according  to  its  law  —  you  can  no  more  change  the  essential 
conditions  of  society  than  you  can  change  the  fundamental 
law  of  nature  —  to  survive!" 

As  Hugh  had  said,  they  spoke  a  different  language.  There 
in  the  soft  autumn  twilight  of  the  garden,  fused  with  golden 
haze,  intensely  still,  were  the  double  worlds  of  the  matter  and 
the  spirit,  that  touched  them  both  but  failed  to  unite. 

"I  deny  your  fundamental  law!"  the  younger  man  mur 
mured.  "It  is  not  enough  for  men." 

Arnold  shrugged  his  shoulders  with  skeptic  impatience. 
Out  of  the  stillness  from  the  forest  burst  a  bar  of  melody,  — 
a  few  pure,  ringing  notes  of  joy.  The  old  man  listened  with 
the  exact  attention  of  the  connoisseur.  The  young  man 
smiled  as  if  the  heavens  had  taken  his  argument  in  hand.  The 
brief  twilight  song  of  the  thrush  died,  and  Arnold  turned  to 
Grant  once  more. 

"I  take  it,"  he  said  with  delicate  deliberation,  "that  there 
is  nothing  more  to  be  said.  The  difference  between  our  views 
is  fundamental." 

"Fundamental!"  the  other  repeated  gravely,  thinking  of 
that  deep  gulf  which  lay  between  him  and  this  man's  daughter, 
—  an  unbridgeable  gulf. 

"In  so  far  as  that  small  transaction  with  your  old  benefactor 
David  Grant  is  concerned,  let  me  say  that  he  got  for  the  prop 
erty  what  it  was  worth  to  him.  I  got  the  opportunity  that 
lay  undisturbed  within  it,  an  opportunity  that  I  was  fit  to 
make  the  most  of.  So  far  as  you  are  concerned,  I  was  ready 
to  give  you  a  similar  opportunity  to  prove  your  power.  You 


THE  MEETING  OF  EQUALS  311 

have  seen  fit  to  reject  it.  Some  scruple,  some  bad  logic, 
apparently,  is  deluding  you.  Let  me  prophesy  too  —  a  last 
word.  You  will  live  to  see  that  man  climbs  by  what  the 
sentimentalists  call  his  baser  side,  —  his  self-interest.  You 
will  do  little  for  your  fellow-men,  —  and  I  suppose  that  is  to 
be  your  mission  in  your  own  eyes,  —  unless  you  can  give  them 
something  besides  —  good  words." 

"At  least  I  can  protest  against  evil!"  the  other  cried.  "I 
can  refuse  to  share  the  wrong." 

"A  fine  creed  that!"  the  old  man  sneered.  "But  you  are 
a  man  —  you  must  go  your  own  way,  the  fool's  way!"  he 
muttered. 

Without  further  word  he  turned,  leaving  the  shabby,  erect 
figure  of  the  young  man,  with  resolute  eyes  and  bearing, 
singularly  out  of  harmony  in  the  spacious  beauty  of  the  formal 
garden,  with  its  exquisite  air  of  eclectic  refinement.  .  .  . 

Alexander  Arnold  ascended  the  terrace  steps  at  a  leisurely 
pace,  —  the  figure  of  efficiency,  which  was  the  ideal  wor 
shipped  by  his  kind,  —  and  entered  the  great  house.  As  he 
went  he  murmured  to  himself,  "And  she  loves  him!  That 
is  why  she  refused  the  others.  Too  bad  —  too  bad!"  He 
paused  before  the  glowing  picture  in  the  hall,  and  thought  of 
the  living  woman  —  his  daughter  —  who  might  have  in  all 
the  world  what  she  would,  and  in  her  heart  desired  this  man. 
And  he  thought  of  the  son  who  might  have  been  in  this 
man  to  take  the  slipping  reins  of  power  from  his  hands,  — 
one  strong  and  able  to  hold. 

Nevertheless,  he  roused  himself  and  whispered  over  the 
long  wire  that  stretched  from  Paradise  Valley  to  the  heart 
of  the  City  a  word  with  Oliver  Whiting:  —  "Beware  —  tell 
Talbot.  A  crazy  fool  is  loose,  —  that  Grant.  He  will  try 
to  make  trouble  —  look  out  —  a  dangerous  dog  with  the 
rabies!"  And  as  he  ceased,  he  murmured,  "Too  bad!" 

Oliver  Whiting,  who  was  about  to  assume  office  in  the 


312  A  LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

government  of  the  nation,  at  once  took  such  measures  of 
self-protection  as  are  dictated  to  his  kind.  And  thus  Hugh 
Grant's  errand  to  the  officers  of  the  law,  whatever  hope  there 
might  have  been  of  checking  the  operations  of  the  power 
company,  was  rendered  void  before  he  had  left  the  confines 
of  Paradise  Valley. 


XXXIV 

THE   GULF 

HE  stood  for  a  moment  where  Alexander  Arnold  had  left 
him,  in  the  peace  of  the  garden  that  was  so  beautiful  at  this 
hour.  The  water  trickling  from  the  fountain  sank  with  a 
low  murmur  into  the  earth  at  his  feet.  From  the  distant 
hillside  came  again  that  pure  note  of  the  thrush  in  his  evening 
song  —  far  off.  Then  he  went  his  solitary  way  out  of  the 
silent  place.  A  calm,  like  the  windless  space  of  the  sky,  had 
succeeded  the  tempest  in  his  heart,  the  calm  of  single  vision 
and  complete  purpose.  His  speech  with  the  father  had  made 
clear  what  passion  for  the  daughter  clouded  —  the  depth  of 
that  deep  gulf  which  was  between  him  and  her,  over  which 
no  crossing  lay.  In  the  eternal  truths  there  was  no  compro 
mise.  Touched  by  the  magic  of  the  woman,  lured  by  his  desire 
of  her,  he  might  imagine  that  by  pure  act  of  will  she  could 
be  his  in  spirit  as  in  body.  Alone  upon  the  mountain,  in 
ecstasy  of  belief,  he  might  divine  the  larger  soul  that  lay 
beneath  the  garment  of  her  life.  But  the  mere  presence  of 
the  old  man,  rooted  in  his  acts,  denied  the  hope.  "I  am  my 
father's  daughter,"  she  had  said  —  in  spirit  as  in  blood. 

So  lingeringly  he  went  his  way  from  this  place  he  should 
see  no  more,  in  which  the  presence  of  the  one  he  loved  was 
potent.  A  few  hours  of  his  life  had  been  spent  here,  each 
one  vivid  with  meaning,  marking  a  revolution  within.  Now 
this  last  of  all,  —  supreme !  Henceforth  the  earth  would  be 
to  him  like  this  evening  hour:  in  it  he  must  go  his  solitary 
way  to  the  unknown  goal,  calm  within  his  heart  in  place  of 

hope,  tumultuous  joy.  .  .  . 

aia 


314  A  LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

Where  the  footpath  entered  the  meadow,  Alexandra  lingered 
in  the  twilight,  a  white  figure,  her  face  averted,  looking  far 
away  into  the  vast  distance  of  things.  At  his  approaching 
step,  she  turned,  and  he  saw  the  tears  in  her  eyes.  Her  head 
was  bent  in  unaccustomed  humility,  and  her  lips  trembled 
in  appeal.  It  would  seem  that  since  they  had  met  and 
parted,  she  had  gone  far  into  herself  and  found  there  something 
strange  and  sad  and  urgent.  That  proud  woman  he  had  battled 
with,  who  could  love  and  yet  disdain,  was  dead  within  her. 

He  waited  for  her  to  speak,  and  already  she  seemed  far 
removed  from  him,  in  a  world  that  he  had  left  forever. 

"We  cannot  part  so,"  she  murmured,  "with  those  bitter 
words!" 

At  her  voice  his  heart  leaped  in  joy  and  pain.  Whatever 
gulf  with  its  impassable  depth  lay  between  them,  she  knew  that 
something  of  the  best  of  her  would  be  ever  his.  The  very 
spirit  in  him  that  she  rejected  had  brought  her  thus  to  meet 
him  once  more  —  the  spirit  which  made  him  unlike  all  other 
men  she  had  known  in  her  life,  which  made  him  mad  in  the 
eyes  of  judgment,  a  fool  before  the  old  man,  —  that  spirit 
compelled  her  hither. 

"I  cannot  understand/'  she  said  softly,  "what  moves  you 
to  —  to  abandon  everything.  But  I  know  that  it  is  noble! 
It  may  be  wrong  —  it  seems  all  wrong  to  me.  But  it  must  be 
noble—  "  and  with  a  lingering  sigh  she  added,  "I  wish  that 
I  could  only  understand!" 

"It  was  to  be  so!" 

The  chasm  lay  between  them  even  in  this  softened  mood  of 
parting.  Even  in  their  yearning,  they  looked  across  it, 
and  each  saw  that  it  must  abide.  Yet  the  woman  pled :  — 

"Is  there  not  some  other  way  —  some  understanding? " 

"There  can  be  no  other  way  for  me." 

"But  my  father  —  he  is  so  wise  —  could  he  not  persuade 
you?" 


THE   GULF  315 

He  smiled  at  her  woman's  hope. 

"He  said  what  he  must  say,  that  I  am  a  fool!" 

"You  have  quarrelled  with  him  —  you  are  mad!  He  will 
utterly  break  you." 

' '  He  cannot,  because  there  is  nothing  to  break.  You  cannot 
strip  a  naked  man." 

"And  you  might  have  been  the  strong  right  arm  for  him  in 
his  old  age!" 

Her  woman's  hope  escaped  her  frankly,  and  he  replied 
gently:  — 

"He  is  a  strong  man;  he  needs  no  helping  hand ! " 

"He  is  great  —  no  one  knows  how  great!"  she  said  with 
quick  pride.  "But  he  is  alone,  with  many  enemies." 

Of  whom  now  you  will  be  another,  she  seemed  to  say  in  the 
pause. 

"Alexander  Arnold  is  powerful ;  you  need  not  fear  for  him ! " 

The  irony  in  his  voice  stung  her,  and  then  she  bowed  her 
tear-stained  face.  This  man's  will  was  the  one  insuperable 
barrier  that  had  ever  lain  across  her  desire.  Suddenly  she 
raised  her  beautiful  head,  with  outstretched  hands,  command 
ing  even  in  her  humility. 

"I  love  you,"  she  said  softly.  "These  are  but  words  that 
part  us,  —  thoughts,  shadows.  We  can  brush  them  aside ! 
We  can  forget  that  they  are.  We  need  not  question,  we  need 
not  think.  We  can  love  —  love,"  she  whispered,  pleading 
softly.  "I  will  learn  your  will,  I  will  be  all  that  you 
wish.  ...  Do  you  remember  the  mountains  among  the 
snows?  I  would  go  there  again  with  you.  You  and  I 
alone.  I  would  have  you  carry  me  in  your  strong  arms  once 
more  —  where  you  will.  Let  us  forget  all  else  that  lies  be 
tween  us,  the  argument  and  the  will,  let  us  forget!"  Her 
pleading  voice  came  to  him  across  the  great  void  of  separation, 
and  like  a  little  running  flame  surrounded  him,  waking  the 
wild  fire  of  blood,  the  surge  of  bafHed  desire.  The  beat  of  her 


316  A  LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

heart  touched  him,  the  breath  of  her  passionate  lips.  "  Then," 
she  whispered  on,  "we  shall  know  —  shall  know  all  truly  —  in 
love,  in  love!" 

Her  voice  died  upon  the  stillness  of  the  night,  as  she  gazed 
into  his  burning  eyes.  At  last  he  spoke,  and  the  words  came 
from  a  great  distance,  faintly :  — 

"Not  thus  —  not  thus!  .  .  .  You  are  still  your  father's 
daughter." 

She  sank  beside  his  feet  and  buried  her  face  in  her  hands. 

"So  low!"  she  moaned.  "So  low  you  have  brought  me  — 
to  spurn  me!" 

"  I  love  you  as  man  can  love  woman ! "  His  hands  touched 
her  bowed  head  softly.  "Alexandra!  It  is  you  who  have 
brought  me  along  my  road,  these  years  —  until  now.  You 
who  pointed  the  shining  way.  Like  a  star  of  the  sky  you  were 
the  blazing  crown  of  life.  .  .  .  Until  I  am  close  beneath 
and  know  what  you  are."  His  words  trembled  at  her  ear. 
"I  love  you  in  flesh  and  in  spirit,  from  the  beginning  until  the 
end.  You  are  all  that  men  dream  of  in  life  —  you  are  all  that 
I  abandon!" 

"No,  no,  no !  Never ! "  She  clung  to  him,  breathing  denial. 
"You  have  said  it!  I  am  the  star  of  the  road,  your  road, 
and  in  love  I  shall  remain  thus  to  the  end.  Thus  —  within 
your  arms  —  always,  always  —  thus! " 

"Love!"  His  hands  pressed  tight  the  golden  hair,  and  his 
voice  sank,  "Yes  —  love!  Always  in  eternal  separation. 
Love  now,  and  always  thus!  Love!"  His  eyes  drew  near 
her  shining  eyes,  his  lips  to  her  soft  lips.  .  .  .  And  slowly 
his  face  again  withdrew,  and  he  cried  fiercely,  "But  more 
between  you  and  me,  never,  —  more  —  never ! " 

"Love!"  she  persisted,  seeking. 

"Love  would  conquer  ...  so  that  I  should  become  what 
you  will,  Alexandra.  The  soft  thing  within  my  arms  would 
be  the  sole  light  to  my  steps.  I  should  become  even  as  you  — 


THE  GULF  317 

the  child  of  power.  ...  I  must  yield  and  live  in  easy  places, 
rule  and  possess.  With  you,  my  Alexandra,  there  is  no  other 
way." 

"But  love,"  she  urged. 

"The  love  that  you  give  would  turn  to  acid  when  I  was  no 
more  the  lonely  spirit  upon  the  mountain.  When  I  come 
to  your  earth  and  live  by  your  side,  I  must  lose  the  mastery, 
the  magic  that  draws  your  love  to  me.  ...  So  I  must  go 
my  lonely  way  back  to  my  people  from  whom  as  a  foundling 
I  strayed  —  here  to  you.  I  must  take  the  road  alone,  without 
the  sound  of  your  voice  in  my  ears,  the  light  of  your  eyes  upon 
my  face,  without  your  beauty,  warmth,  power  about  me, 
my  loved  one.  .  .  .  And  you  must  go  on  upon  your  glittering 
path,  bearing  loveliness,  beauty,  desire  to  the  lives  of  men. 
For  you  will  be  always  adored,  and  you  will  be  resplendent 
among  the  privileged  to  enjoy,  and  joy  will  be  yours.  .  .  . 
Alexandra,  my  love!" 

Her  head  drooped  upon  his  breast,  and  she  lay  within  his 
circled  arms.  At  last,  low  and  startled,  came  her  voice :  — 

"So  you  will  put  me  from  you?  You  will  put  me  from  you 
—  by  the  breadth  of  the  whole  earth!  Forever?" 

Slowly  he  spoke,  as  if  seeing  far  in  the  distance  a  light  :  — 

"Until  you,  too,  have  come  to  the  depths!  Until  you  have 
abandoned  all,  and  all  has  abandoned  you!  And  you  look 
within  for  truth." 

"Until,"  she  repeated  wonderingly,  "I  have  abandoned  all, 
and  all  has  abandoned  me?" 

"  Until  the  sorrow  of  sorrows  has  come  to  you,  and  the  world 
can  no  longer  give  comfort." 

Slowly  she  unclasped  the  arms  that  girdled  her  about,  and, 
pondering  with  white  face,  gazed  upon  him. 

"It  is  a  curse,"  she  said,  "not  love!" 

He  knelt  and  taking  the  hem  of  her  garment  held  it  hi  his 
hands. 


318  A  LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

"See!"  He  crushed  the  soft  fabric  in  his  hand.  "Silk 
with  thread  of  gold.  It  is  the  tears !  See ! "  He  touched  her 
girdle  with  his  hands.  "Gold  and  precious  stones.  They  are 
the  groans!  See!"  He  put  his  fingers  upon  the  golden  hair. 
' '  A  wreath  of  pure  gold !  Tears  and  groans  and  bloody  sweat ! 
You  are  a  tissue  of  the  lives  of  others,  from  feet  to  the  crown 
upon  your  hair.  .  .  .  See!"  His  hot  hands  crushed  the 
orchids  at  her  breast.  "Even  the  flower  at  your  breast  is 
stained  with  blood.  ...  I  see  the  tears  of  others  on  your 
robe.  I  hear  their  sighs  in  your  voice.  I  see  defeated  desires 
in  the  light  of  your  eyes.  You  are  the  Sacrifice  of  the 
many  —  I  cannot  touch!" 

She  covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  murmuring :  — 

"So  my  garment  is  made  of  blood  and  tears.  The  gold  in 
my  hair  and  about  my  waist  is  the  anguish  of  brothers  and 
sisters.  Even  the  flowers  at  my  breast  are  red  with  blood!" 
She  took  the  blossoms  and  scattered  them  upon  the  ground. 
"My  lips  give  the  touch  of  death!  the  touch  of  death!" 
she  cried,  raising  her  arms  and  drawing  away.  "  I  am  clothed 
in  the  spoils  of  the  plunderer.  With  me  there  can  be  no  union 
in  love!" 

Farther  and  farther  she  retreated  up  the  forest  path,  her 
hands  raised,  a  slim  white  shadow  in  the  darkening  night. 
"My  lips  are  the  touch  of  death!  the  touch  of  death!" 

"Alexandra!"  The  call  rang  through  the  silent  woods 
like  a  cry  of  agony.  There  was  no  answer. 

He  knelt  upon  the  ground  where  the  orchids  had  fallen,  and 
clutched  the  earth  with  his  hands. 


XXXV 

EVASION 

IN  the  fair,  still  night  the  little  moon  began  to  shed  light, 
illumining  with  a  misty  radiance  the  great  house  upon  the  hill. 
Within  all  was  still  and  warm.  The  coals  upon  the  hearth 
were  turning  to  white  ashes.  Not  a  voice,  nor  the  sound  of  a 
step  in  all  the  large  rooms.  An  odor  of  warmth  and  flowers, 
the  fragrance  of  summer  days,  was  in  the  settled  calm.  The 
face  of  the  old  Madonna  looked  glowingly  from  the  precious 
canvas,  and  many  well-remembered  things  lay  in  their  ac 
customed  places  and  seemed  to  speak  a  cheerful  message  to  the 
mistress  of  Paradise  Valley. 

But  Alexandra  stood  in  the  silent  hall  and  shivered,  her 
long,  fine  body  a-tremble.  The  face  of  familiar  objects  had 
lost  in  a  few  minutes  their  known  appearance.  Suddenly  she 
touched  a  bell  and  gave  a  swift  command.  When  the  wheels 
of  the  powerful  car  she  had  summoned  stopped  before  the 
door,  she  was  ready,  covered  with  a  long  fur  coat  that  hid  the 
white  beauty  of  her  dress,  and  stepped  within. 

"To  the  City!"  she  cried  to  the  waiting  servant. 

The  car,  winged  and  of  steel,  like  a  bellied  monster,  leaped 
into  the  night,  and  winding  about  the  hillside,  shot  downward 
across  the  meadows  into  the  dark  woods.  It  passed  a  man, 
who  drew  back  from  its  gleaming  path  into  the  thicket  beside 
the  road.  But  the  woman,  sitting  erect  like  a  dark  image,  saw 
him  not. 

Once  in  the  dark  woods  the  car  called  hoarsely,  and  the 
keeper  of  the  lodge  ran  from  his  sleep  to  open  the  gates,  blink 
ing  with  wonder  at  the  fiery  eyes,  cursing  the  whim  of  the 

319 


320  A   LIFE   FOR  A   LIFE 

masters  who  would  set  forth  at  such  an  hour  when  reasonable 
folk  were  asleep.  But  the  machine,  swinging  skilfully  between 
the  stone  towers  of  the  gate-house,  plunged  into  the  highroad 
and  turned  its  nose  south  toward  the  City  many  miles  away. 

With  a  rush,  as  if  caught  by  some  mighty  arm  and  borne 
through  the  air,  the  car  swept  up  the  long,  ascending  hill, 
poised  for  the  moment  upon  the  summit,  then  settled  birdlike 
into  the  broad  valley  beyond,  running  smoothly  almost  with 
out  voice  beneath  the  steady  hand  of  the  little  man  crouched 
behind  the  wheel.  Alexandra,  her  hot  face  softly  brushed  by 
the  rushing  air,  sat  immovable,  her  eyes  shut,  her  throat  with 
its  gold  band  bare,  her  breast  where  the  fragrant  orchids  had 
rested  open  to  the  wind.  The  swift,  slightly  swaying  motion 
of  the  great  machine  soothed  her.  Something  of  the  intoler 
able  shame  in  her  heart  —  defeat  and  abasement  of  herself 
before  a  man  —  had  faded  away.  Motion  was  an  anodyne. 
And  flight,  the  escape  from  physical  contact  with  the  scene  of 
her  humiliation,  from  the  sting  of  immediate  memory,  restored 
her  mental  equilibrium.  Escape,  flight,  evasion  by  the  leap 
outwards  to  the  unknown  away  from  the  hated  thing  of  the 
present  —  that  was  the  supreme  privilege  of  power.  The 
little  and  the  weak  were  forced  to  drag  their  weary  footsteps 
through  the  unhappy  memories  of  failure.  Not  so  for  her! 

The  little  moon  was  low  upon  the  horizon,  and  the  road 
ahead  lay  like  a  broad  white  band  between  two  masses  of  black 
shadows  made  by  the  heavy  foliage  of  the  trees.  It  streamed 
out  behind  like  the  white  wake  between  two  waves  that  met 
and  embraced  in  the  distance,  shutting  in  the  flight  of  the 
car.  The  segment  of  white  light  from  the  lamps  cut  into 
the  darkness  of  the  night,  eating  it,  devouring  it,  casting  it 
behind ! 

They  shot  through  little  hamlets,  with  here  and  there  a  faint 
light  at  the  cottage  windows.  The  lady  of  the  machine  opened 
her  eyes  and  beheld  a  face  peering  out  of  a  vanishing  door- 


EVASION  321 

way.  He  was  of  those  tied  and  bound  to  the  accustomed 
path,  to  whom  in  mood  of  exasperation  there  could  be  no  Es 
cape,  condemned  to  plod  the  narrow  circle  of  mistake  and  error 
and  pain,  or  of  petty  deed  and  crude  joy,  bound  by  the  circum 
stance  in  which  his  God  had  fixed  him.  .  .  .  But  for  her, 
seated  like  a  carved  figure  in  her  chariot  of  steel,  winged  with 
fire,  of  rhythmic,  birdlike  motion,  sweeping  over  the  earth  in  a 
cloud  of  trailing  dust,  there  was  given  the  power  to  snap  the 
cords  of  circumstance  —  to  evade!  As  the  numbered  ^nailes 
streamed  past  in  the  silent  night,  the  sweet  sense  of  mastery 
and  power  returned  into  her  heart.  For  a  brief  time  she  had 
lived  a  mad  dream,  to  awake  harshly,  with  bitter  shame. 
At  the  thought  of  her  tears  and  her  proffered  self,  the  muscles 
of  her  body  stiffened  and  the  nails  bit  hard  into  her  flesh. 
Never,  never  again  would  it  be!  Never  again  would  a  mad 
desire  unthrone  her,  softening  her  pride,  making  of  her  woman 
hood  a  weak  and  crawling  thing,  —  pitiful,  to  be  despised  of 
man.  All  the  tutored  contempt  of  her  race  for  the  feeble 
and  the  weak  hardened  in  her  proud  heart.  She  became  rigid 
in  hate  and  purpose  —  nevertheless  with  an  ache.  .  .  . 

The  car  was  swimming  now,  high  on  the  uplands  where 
the  night  breeze  blew.  For  many  miles  around  lay  the  fat 
plains  stretching  away  in  rich  field  and  farm  land,  clustered 
houses  and  settlements.  In  the  steady  motion  of  the  engine, 
the  car  was  floating,  swimming  just  above  the  land.  Alexan 
dra  thought  of  the  flying  machine  and  the  bold  young  officer 
who  had  wished  to  take  her  with  him  in  flight.  Some  day 
she  would  rise  altogether  from  the  earth,  and  in  a  powerful 
winged  monster  take  flight  upward  into  the  heavens,  above  the 
houses  and  the  fields  of  petty  men.  That  would  be  a  royal 
triumph,  to  swim  upward  out  of  the  common  air  into  the 
untracked  ether !  And  for  the  moment,  racing  over  the  road 
in  her  speedy  chariot,  she  felt  herself  about  to  rise,  to  spring, 
to  fly  altogether  from  the  earth.  .  .  .  The  car  breathed 


322  A  LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

heavily,  suddenly  came  to  a  stop,  panting.  The  skilled  ear 
of  the  driver  crouched  motionless  behind  his  wheel  had  noted 
something  wrong  in  the  rhythm  of  the  racing  machine.  As  he 
swung  from  his  seat,  the  whirring  wheels  still,  he  looked  into 
the  eyes  of  the  silent  figure  in  the  car,  and  would  have  spoken  in 
the  human  desire  of  speech.  But  the  white,  cold  face,  the 
staring,  unseeing  eyes,  silenced  him,  and  he  went  to  his  task,  — 
he  was  a  piece  of  his  machine.  .  .  . 

The  great  car  lay  inert  upon  the  earth,  its  lamps  throwing 
long  beams  into  the  dark.  Now  that  the  wind  no  longer 
rushed  past,  the  silence  of  the  summer  night  revealed  the  faint 
rustling  of  the  animate  earth,  —  insect  and  bird  alive,  the 
undertwitter  of  nature  in  the  long  grass,  the  dead  leaves, 
the  water  flowing  beside  the  road,  —  voices  of  the  night. 
They  called  the  soaring  thought  of  the  woman  down  to  the 
comfortable,  living  earth,  all  peopled  with  its  tiny  creatures. 
A  bird  chirped  faintly  in  the  thicket,  and  from  the  swaying 
branches  of  the  trees  came  an  autumn  fragrance,  pungent 
with  memories.  Behind  a  hedge  there  rose  in  the  dark  the  dim 
outline  of  a  low  cottage,  all  still  and  hushed  in  sleep.  Through 
the  thronging  fancies  in  the  woman's  heart  came  the  form  of  a 
man,  a  face  drawn  with  pain,  stern,  pitiless,  to  self,  to  her ; 
and  another  vision  of  that  same  face  with  the  glow  upon  it  of 
mountain  snows,  eager  with  life  and  love,  adoring  her.  And 
again  the  drowsy  sense  of  dripping  water  in  a  great  forest, 
with  the  warmth  of  human  arms  about  her,  a  man's  arms, 
His!  And  the  deep,  deep  warmth  within  of  human  love. 
A  tear  fell  from  the  open,  fixed  eyes  upon  the  cold  hand,  and  in 
the  vague  night,  soft  with  voices  and  fragrance,  a  sigh  fell  from 
her  lips,  tender  and  curved.  Visions  came,  fleeting  pictures, 
dissolving,  melting,  flaming  —  always  with  Him,  her  Man, 
her  Hero,  adored,  by  her  side,  above  her,  beneath  her,  sur 
rounding  her,  absorbing  her.  This  empty  night  melodious 
with  voices,  this  hushed  roadside  cottage,  the  beckoning  City — 


EVASION  323 

all  with  him,  peopled  with  the  one  man  who  had  touched  her 
inmost  spirit.  She  brushed  the  tears  away.  .  .  . 

With  a  snort  the  great  machine  began  to  throb  again,  to 
race  impatiently,  rocking  the  car.  At  the  touch  of  the  driver 
it  leaped  out  once  more  into  the  dark  with  a  bound,  like  a  freed 
animal, — on,  on  hi  that  wonderful  flight  of  Escape  from  self,  into 
the  soft  darkness,  nowplunging  down  to  the  low  plain,  flashing 
its  great  eyes  along  the  silent  streets  of  sleeping  villages,  leap 
ing  across  rivers  on  high  bridges,  passing  from  thing  to  thing 
with  the  swiftness  of  thought.  The  image  there  with  his  hand 
on  the  wheel  seemed  to  feel  the  hot  desire  of  his  mistress  be 
hind  him,  and  the  powerful  monster  beneath  his  touch  gath 
ered  speed,  more  speed,  rounding  in  great  arcs  the  curving 
road,  rocking  lightly,  breathing  like  a  human  creature  at  the 
topmost  strain,  —  fifty,  sixty,  seventy  miles !  The  swaying 
needle  crept  over  the  dial.  A  leap  —  the  sense  of  resting  upon 
air  —  it  was  a  roadside  bridge.  The  winking  house  light 
beside  the  way  died  like^the  firefly  into  the  dark  wake.  Down, 
down,  with  a  long,  sinking  sweep,  then  the  hard  level  road  once 
more,  straight  as  the  shaft  of  light  at  their  prow,  and  the  great 
beast  was  still  gathering  power  beneath  them.  Seventy, 
eighty,  eighty-five,  —  they  were  flying,  gently  rocking  with 
the  hum  of  the  engine,  straining  to  take  in  the  sluggish  air 
through  which  they  shot. 

A  reckless  thrill  gained  the  woman,  sitting  like  marble  on  her 
padded  seat.  A  wild  will  throbbed  in  her.  The  speed  was 
death,  —  a  sudden  leap,  a  blow,  then  darkness  —  what  of  it ! 
Savage  joy  once  more  rose  in  her  heart,  a  living  sense  of  power 
flooding  her  like  the  force  of  the  great  machine  beneath  Her  feet. 
Power  over  fate,  to  hurl  herself  resistlessly  to  the  reach  of  her 
will,  crushing  the  soft  weakness  of  her  woman's  body.  Power 
to  mould  the  world,  to  live  life  to  the  full  of  pulse  and  nerve ; 
ay,  power  over  him  who  had  denied  her  —  power  to  scorn! 
Power  to  seize  in  her  strong  hands  from  the  earth,  fleeing 


324  A  LIFE  FOR  A   LIFE 

behind  her,  all  of  splendor  and  joy  and  sweetness  that  it  had! 
Power  of  Possession  and  Dominion.  Power  to  give  and  to 
refuse.  Power  to  have  and  to  enjoy.  Power  over  men  and 
women.  Power  of  self. 

"My  garment  is  sewn  with  tears,"  she  murmured.  "The 
gold  crown  upon  my  head  is  made  with  men's  groans.  My  lips 
give  the  touch  of  death.  But  I  live!  I  —  and  all  that  woman 
can  have,  shall  be  mine!" 

This  was  the  song  of  the  machine,  winged  and  of  steel, 
flying  through  the  night,  and  it  dulled  the  ache  in  the  heart 
of  its  mistress.  .  .  . 

The  heavens  in  the  far  distance  were  suffused  with  light. 
The  car  was  nearing  the  City.  It  lay  beyond  the  next  hill  in 
the  valley  of  the  river.  Lines  of  twinkling  lights,  running 
into  the  countryside,  began  to  appear,  and  at  last,  as  the  swift 
machine  topped  the  hill  like  a  bird,  there  lay  the  City,  a  soft 
dark  mass  of  building  mistily  illumined  with  myriad  points 
of  light.  The  City,  softly  humming  even  in  its  sleep !  There 
was  the  arena  of  her  soul,  where  she  would  thread  the  brilliant 
maze  of  her  destiny,  where  shame  and  weakness  and  defeat 
would  be  forgotten.  The  great,  glittering  City  was  her  home. 
And  out  of  its  misty  darkness,  in  the  vague  dubiety  of  the 
coming  dawn,  there  rose  a  ghost,  —  a  spirit  with  a  face  of 
pain  and  sorrow  and  unappeased  desire.  "I  am  the  spirit 
of  the  sleeping  millions,"  it  said  to  the  woman's  heart.  "I  am 
him  whom  you  love,  —  one  of  all  the  millions  of  men  in  the 
City.  Between  us  there  lies  an  unbridged  gulf,  —  even 
the  pit  within  your  soul."  .  .  . 

The  car  rolled  through  the  empty  avenues,  gray  and 
misty  with  the  dawn.  Alexandra  drew  the  fur  robe  close 
around  her,  chilled  in  body  and  spirit.  At  last,  before  the 
steps  of  her  father's  house,  the  machine  stopped  with  a  final 
sigh.  She  rose  stiffly  from  her  seat  and  entered  the  darkened 
house.  She  stood  in  its  chill  silence,  looking  vaguely  for  an 


EVASION  325 

answer  to  her  yearning  among  its  familiar  objects,  and 
from  beneath  her  cloak  fell  dead  leaves,  which  had  clung 
to  her  garments.  With  her  feet  upon  them  she  sat  down  at 
the  table  and  slowly  wrote  a  message,  tracing  the  words  across 
the  page  with  painful  care. 

As  she  rose  the  first  rays  of  the  wan  City  dawn  reached 
through  the  window  and  touched  her  pale  face. 


XXXVI 

TO  ALL  MEN  THERE  COMES  THE  DAY 

OLIVER  WHITING  sat  in  his  room  behind  the  pediment  of 
that  marble  temple  which  he  had  caused  to  be  built  as  a  monu 
ment  for  himself.  He  held  in  his  trembling  hand  the  white 
sheet  on  which  was  written  Alexandra's  message.  .  .  . 

Life  had  been  good  to  Oliver  Whiting,  —  even  now  the 
best.  Life  had  been  good  to  him  in  many  ways,  not  least  in 
the  strain  of  Teutonic  ancestry  which  was  discernible  in  the 
steel-blue  eyes,  the  flaxen  hair  neatly  covering  his  large  head, 
his  rugged  features,  —  also  in  the  sturdy  instinct  of  thrift 
and  prudence,  tempering  keen  desire  and  shrewd  judgment. 
Thrift  had  nourished  his  race,  —  the  instinct  to  get  and  not 
to  give  —  all.  Thrift  had  builded  his  fortune  solidly,  like 
the  enduring  blocks  of  marble  and  the  tough  sinews  of  steel 
in  this  temple  of  property.  To  run  the  risk,  but  to  be  assured 
against  loss,  that  had  been  his  policy,  and  also  to  be  of  the 
company  of  the  strong,  where  plunder  was  to  be  had  in  plenty 
for  the  prudent  and  the  wise.  Yes!  Oliver  was  rooted  deep 
into  society  with  an  instinctive  respect  for  all  those  who 
used  its  opportunities  effectively. 

Behold  the  reward  of  precept  and  expert  practice  in  this 
noble  edifice  of  the  Bank  of  the  Republic,  in  whose  steel-lined 
vaults  hidden  many  feet  beneath  the  pavement  of  the  street 
lay  millions  upon  millions  of  hoarded  treasure,  —  little  slips 
of  paper,  crisp  green  documents  of  Property,  —  neat  symbols 
of  achievement!  "The  savings  of  an  energetic  people  become 
fruitful  capital/'  President  Nathaniel  Butterfield  might  say, 

326 


TO  ALL  MEN  THERE  COMES  THE  DAY     327 

describing  this  wealth  glowingly.  Among  them  were  the 
securities  of  the  Universal  Power  Company,  and  others  of  the 
same  kind,  of  which  Oliver  himself  held  a  goodly  share. 
Behold,  also,  the  tribute  of  a  wise  government  to  the  ability 
and  character  of  the  shrewd  banker,  —  the  offer  of  a  Secre 
taryship  in  the  Cabinet  of  Prosperity,  an  office  of  the  highest 
honor!  It  was  a  call  that  he  felt  bound  to  accept.  For  as  he 
had  said,  in  response  to  the  overtures,  "He  could  afford  the 
sacrifice  of  serving  his  government,  and  public  service  was  a 
private  duty,"' — a  printable  maxim  in  which  he  sincerely 
believed. 

Thus  life  was  increasingly  good  to  the  banker.  And  these 
rewards  of  reputation  and  fortune  were  coming  while  the  sap 
still  ran  in  the  veins  and  triumph  brought  a  pleasant  taste  to 
the  mouth.  Although  the  solid  flesh  of  his  face  was  lined  with 
little  marks,  —  the  stout  body  must  needs  show  its  trace  of 
use,  —  yet  the  appetite  for  life  was  still  keen.  He  was  yet 
well  within  the  age  when  a  beautiful  woman  may  stir  the 
pulse.  The  sheet  that  bore  Alexandra's  message  trembled 
slightly  in  his  firm  fist.  The  daughter  of  Alexander  Arnold, 
rich  and  young  and  radiant,  the  woman  of  all  others  born 
and  trained  to  rule,  fit  mate  for  distinction  and  success,  de 
sired  by  many  eminent  rivals,  —  ah,  fortune  had  been  indeed 
bountiful  to  him  at  the  harvest  of  effort! 

He  was  conscious  of  having  deserved  well  of  fortune.  He 
had  served  her  steadfastly  from  his  penurious  youth,  through 
lean  and  Jat  years  alike.  He  had  escaped  shipwreck  upon 
temptations  before  which  weaker  men  would  have  gone  down. 
There  was  nothing  criminal,  at  least,  in  the  marvellous  his 
tory  of  the  Bank  of  the  Republic,  and  little  that  was  impru 
dent.  Whoever  had  lost  in  the  spinning  whirlpool  of  finance 
during  these  last  years,  the  Bank  of  the  Republic  had  gained, 
and  the  strong  men  associated  with  it  were  beyond  the  reach 
of  scandal.  There  had  been  moments  in  its  history,  —  there 


328  A  LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

were  records  in  its  dark  vaults,  —  that  it  might  be  well  not 
to  have  published,  in  an  envious  and  inquiring  age.  But 
before  such  private  knowledge,  Oliver  Whiting  discreetly 
lowered  his  keen  blue  eyes.  It  made  a  fair  facade,  at  least, 
his  temple  of  Property. 

Property,  with  its  privilege  and  its  responsibility!  Oliver 
Whiting  was  the  incarnation  of  Property,  this  fine  autumn 
morning,  sitting  in  the  reserved  luxury  of  his  private  office, 
to  which  the  roar  of  the  busy  city  penetrated  indistinctly. 
He  was  so  solid,  so  wholesome,  so  appropriately  and  unob 
trusively  dressed,  as  he  sat  there  with  bowed  head  over  his 
neat  desk,  fingering  deeds  of  trust,  agreements  of  underwriting, 
prospectuses  of  bond  issues  —  tangible  symbols  of  property! 
Something  of  the  poetry  of  these  dumb  documents  penetrated 
him.  Deeds,  they  were,  —  deeds  of  Ambition,  Imagination, 
Daring,  as  well  as  of  Thrift,  Opportunity,  and  Integrity. 

The  song  of  the  great  City  rose  higher  as  the  sun  climbed 
upward  among  its  lofty  buildings.  The  song  of  industry, 
sweet  in  the  ears  of  Oliver  Whiting,  —  a  song  that  reached 
across  the  land  from  ocean  to  ocean,  —  rising  from  fair  fruit 
fields,  golden  wheat  fields,  rich  mines  beneath  the  earth,  long 
steel  bands  of  railroads,  silent  forests,  resounding  mills,  and 
smoky  cities,  all  contributing  to  the  golden  flood  whose  ebb 
and  flow  beat  in  his  temple  of  Property.  A  wonderful  machine 
is  modern  industry,  for  which  Oliver  Whiting  had  boundless 
reverence.  Desire  and  the  fulfilment  of  desire,  —  the  machine 
on  which  all  men  are  bound,  as  in  an  endless  wheel.  .  .  . 

Oliver  Whiting  was  liberal  and  generous.  If  he  took  large 
toll  of  prosperity,  he  poured  forth  a  generous  share  to  the 
weak  and  destitute.  He  was  a  habitual  director  of  institu 
tional  benevolence,  an  aider  and  abettor  of  what  Butterfield 
called  "all  the  forces  for  good."  Though  he  had  a  weakness 
for  public  appearance,  it  was  not  pride  alone  that  prompted 
him.  Behind  the  iron  law  of  thrift,  beneath  his  worship  of 


TO  ALL  MEN  THERE  COMES  THE  DAY     329 

property,  there  was  a  grain  of  Mercy,  and  more  than  a  grain 
of  Good  Will  for  his  fellow-men. 

In  a  word  Oliver  Whiting  was  an  ornament  to  the  city 
and  an  example  to  his  kind.  This  day,  as  he  glanced 
at  his  calendar,  he  recalled  a  meeting  of  the  board  for 
Maimed  Orphans  and  an  appointment  with  the  building 
committee  at  Arnold's  magnificent  Museum  of  Fine  Art.  .  .  . 
He  folded  Alexandra's  note  and  carefully  placed  it  in  his  inner 
pocket,  calculating  that  between  these  two  appointments  he 
could  slip  in  this  third.  With  a  sigh  and  a  smile  he  summoned 
his  secretary,  who  found  him  in  idle  contemplation.  .  .  . 
Oliver  had  been  married  before,  years  ago  in  his  youth,  and 
there  had  risen  in  his  memory  the  picture  of  this  young  wife, 
a  dark,  passionate  creature  who  had  neglected  the  forms  of 
life  and  spent  money  like  an  extravagant  child.  He  had  been 
harsh,  and  she  had  died  —  he  was  pensively  sad  for  her.  But 
if  she  had  not  gone  her  way,  there  would  have  been  no  princely 
alliance  like  this  he  dreamed  —  no  Alexandra  to  shine  by  his 
side  and  ornament  his  life! 

He  turned  to  the  waiting  young  man,  and  took  up  the 
threads  of  his  busy  day,  troubled  now  and  then  by  the  image 
of  that  dark  young  thing  of  his  youth,  and  also  the  picture  of 
the  beautiful  woman  awaiting  him  in  the  great  house  upon  the 
avenue.  What  had  turned  her  heart  toward  him,  at  last? 
.  .  .  Among  the  many  callers  was  Talbot,  to  whom  he 
reported  the  message  that  had  come  over  the  wire  from 
Paradise  Valley. 

"Hugh  Grant!"  the  banker  exclaimed.  "What  ails 
him?" 

"His  conscience,"  the  lawyer  sardonically  suggested.  "I 
thought  he  would  fly  the  track  some  day." 

The  two  men  shrugged  shoulders,  and  Whiting  signifi 
cantly  touched  his  broad  forehead. 

"Look  out  for  him!"  the  shrewd  lawyer  counselled.     "He 


330  A  LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

is  an  hysteric  —  that  kind  can  be  an  awful  pest.  He  will 
chase  on  to  Washington  with  his  story." 

The  banker,  with  another  shrug,  reassured  the  lawyer. 

"He  can  do  us  no  harm  —  only  himself." 

But  later,  in  the  day,  as  he  was  driven  from  his  appointment 
with  the  building  committee  of  the  beautiful  Museum  that 
Alexander  Arnold  had  been  induced  to  offer  the  public,  Oliver 
Whiting's  thoughts  returned  to  the  young  man,  Hugh  Grant, 
the  one  who  was  now  "  down  and  out. "  Of  all  the  rivals  that 
thronged  about  the  mistress  of  Paradise  Valley,  this  insignifi 
cant  Grant  was  the  one  he  had  most  suspected  might  win  the 
prize.  Nathaniel  Butterfield's  pretensions  were  ridiculous: 
one  patronized  learning  and  the  fine  arts,  but  did  not  marry 
them.  Ravi  and  the  young  diplomat  Dexter,  —  they  were 
possible,  and  also  that  much-heralded  foreigner  of  high  blood 
that  had  been  in  Alexandra's  train  at  Washington,  and 
another  here  in  the  City,  —  there  were  many  named,  and 
all  far  more  suitable  than  young  Grant.  But  there  was  a 
strain  of  wandering  blood  in  the  girl,  on  the  mother's  side. 
He  had  seen  her  eyes  rest  upon  the  fellow,  —  and  that  es 
capade  in  the  mountains!  But  she  had  regained  her  poise 
and  become  her  father's  daughter,  after  all.  So  concluded 
Oliver,  as  he  was  ushered  into  the  little  room  where  Alexandra 
awaited  him. 

It  was  so  dark  in  this  room,  hung  with  dusky  old  tapestries, 
furnished  with  dull  brocade  and  worm-eaten  ebony  woods, 
that  the  banker  stumbled  at  the  entrance  and  did  not  advance. 
There  was  a  single  shaded  lamp,  by  the  light  of  which  Alexan 
dra  was  reading.  She  laid  down  her  book,  and  extended  a 
welcoming  hand,  which  was  white  and  large  and  firm.  As  the 
banker  bent  over  it,  she  looked  thoughtfully  at  him  out  of 
her  half-closed  eyes.  Her  bright  head  rested  upon  the  faded 
brocade  of  the  chair,  which  harmonized  with  the  rich  colored 
dress  that  she  wore.  This  day  she  had  adorned  herself  with 


TO  ALL  MEN  THERE  COMES  THE  DAY     331 

special  care,  in  rare  colors,  with  many  jewels,  and  as  Whiting 
looked  at  her  she  seemed  more  distant,  more  ornamental,  than 
at  Paradise  Valley.  Her  white  face  under  the  shaded  lamp 
had  no  expression  whatsoever,  nor  did  she  move  from  the 
reclining  position  in  the  great  chair.  She  studied  the  man 
before  her,  irreproachable  in  dress  and  manner,  studied  his 
massive,  strong  face,  —  the  face  of  one  who  achieves. 

"You  have  been  at  the  Museum  meeting,"  she  remarked. 
"Tell  me  about  it,"  and  while  he  talked  she  watched  him 
closely  from  her  half-shut  eyes. 

At  last  he  said,  "Your  note  this  morning — " 

"And  you  have  been  made  Secretary?" 

"It  is  definitely  settled." 

"And  you  will  go  to  Washington  soon?" 

"The  first  of  the  year." 

There  was  something  of  directness  and  cold  insight  in  these 
demands  that  fitted  business  hours  rather  than  the  intimate 
moments  of  courtship.  The  last  answer  Alexandra  received 
in  silence,  while  the  man  sought  to  shift  the  centre  of  interest 
from  his  ambitions  to  his  more  personal  emotion,  and  then, 
sitting  more  erect  in  her  large  chair,  Alexandra  said :  — 

"It  is  a  great  opportunity  before  you!" 

"Yes!"  he  admitted.  "It  entails  some  sacrifice  of  personal 
interests." 

Her  level  glance  penetrated  his  euphemism.  Alexandra 
Arnold  knew  men ;  she  knew  the  sort  of  sacrifice  that  Oliver 
Whiting  would  be  willing  to  make,  the  traffic  of  one  ambition 
for  another. 

"It  is  the  thing  to  do  for  th£  present,"  she  reflected.  "But 
with  your  abilities,  you  can  expect  — 

He  glanced  quickly  at  her.  She  had  weighed  the  matter 
with  shrewd  care. 

"An  embassy." 

"I  had  thought  of  that!"  he  exclaimed.     "With  the  right 


332  A  LIFE  FOR  A   LIFE 

And  then,  leaning  forward,  with  her  head  resting  upon  her 
strong  hands,  her  eyes  averted,  Alexandra  said  slowly:  — 

"You  shall  have  the  right  support." 

Oliver  Whiting's  heart  leaped  at  the  words.  It  was  a 
strange  wooing  and  a  strange  winning,  but  the  temperament 
of  the  mature  man  approved.  This  beautiful  woman  had 
observed  her  varied  world  keenly  and  intelligently,  and  valued 
the  things  whereof  it  was  made.  Youth  and  adventure  she 
had  rejected ;  fashion  and  pleasure  were  not  enough  for  her ; 
even  the  false  glory  of  title  and  foreign  place  she  was  wise 
enough  to  set  aside  in  favor  of  a  sounder  ambition.  She  would 
not  marry  the  rich  banker,  nor  even  the  prospective  Secretary; 
she  would  be  the  wife  of  an  ambassador  from  the  first  nation  in 
the  world !  .  .  .  They  spoke  of  the  precise  post  to  which  the 
banker  might  aspire,  the  method  of  approach,  and  at  the  end 
they  came  to  a  perfect  understanding.  Standing  opposite 
her,  his  eyes  upon  a  level  with  her  gold  hair,  which  was  bound 
with  a  band  of  dull  gold,  he  was  moved  beyond  himself,  moved 
to  take  her  hands,  saying :  — 

"It  will  be  possible  with  you,  Alexandra!  Anything  would 
be  possible!"  But  when  he  would  have  come  nearer  to  her, 
she  held  him  in  restraint  by  the  grasp  of  her  hands,  and 
smiled  coldly. 

"I  shall  expect  much!" 

And  he  was  content  to  leave  her  thus  unkissed,  —  the 
woman  who  had  consented  to  share  her  ambitions  with  him. 
At  the  door  he  turned  and  saw  her,  one  hand  resting  on  the 
marble  table  beneath  the  lamp,  her  eyes  cast  down,  in  con 
templation,  grave,  as  became  the  wife  of  an  ambassador. 

It  was  all  that  he  might  expect,  a  happy  triumph.  And 
yet  there  crossed,  waywardly,  his  satisfied  mood  the  picture  of 
that  mutinous  woman  who  had  left  him  long  ago. 

He  went  his  way  to  see  about  the  Maimed  Orphans. 


XXXVII 

THE    FOUNDLING  EETUENS 

WITH  that  cry  of  "Alexandra!"  ringing  unanswered  in  the 
night  Hugh's  last  struggle  for  possession  died  within  him. 
Thereafter  the  empty  road  would  lie  plain  and  simple  before 
his  eyes.  He  touched  the  earth  where  the  woman  had  stood, 
where  the  flowers  she  had  worn  at  her  breast  still  lay.  He 
kissed  their  fragrant  chalices,  then  rose. 

She  loved  him !  Alexandra,  the  image  of  his  supreme  desire, 
the  marvellous  one  that  had  made  all  life  glow,  the  dream  of 
his  youth,  once  imperious  and  remote,  then  coming  closer, 
within  grasp,  —  ah,  she  loved  him !  He  had  seen  it  in  her 
pleading  eyes.  She  was  willing  to  humble  herself,  the  proud 
one,  —  tender,  desirous.  Like  the  moth  he  had  come  to  her 
across  field  and  hill,  as  to  his  mate.  But  the  vision  of  his 
youth  had  been  wrong:  they  were  divided  in  spirit,  like  two 
stars  of  different  spheres,  —  she  radiant  aloft,  he  burning 
low  and  dim.  .  .  . 

But  the  end  of  no  man's  being  is  a  woman,  however  adored 
and  desired. 

The  swift  car  in  its  flight  through  the  dark  with  Alexandra 
passed  him  on  the  road.  Its  powerful  lamps  lit  a  segment  of 
the  horizon  ahead  with  their  flash,  like  a  fleeing  comet,  and 
the  sound  of  the  racing  machine  died  quickly  in  the  still  night. 
Thus  she  passed  from  his  life !  The  wavering  segment  of  light 
trembled  for  a  moment  upon  the  distant  hilltop,  then  vanished. 
All  was  motionless  once  more  in  Paradise  Valley.  The  rest 
less  spirit  of  its  mistress  had  fled  to  its  fulfilment,  while  in 

aaa 


334  A  LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

the  silent  house  upon  the  hill  an  old  man  sat  before  a  precious 
canvas,  revolving  in  his  mind  the  fine  meshes  of  the  web  spun 
by  his  will,  without  thought  of  the  fool. 

And  the  fool  stumbled  forth  from  Paradise  Valley,  heedless 
of  the  old  man  and  his  judgment.  The  silences  of  the  night, 
the  brooding  calm  of  immortal  nature,  soothed  his  spirit.  In 
the  herb  beneath  his  feet,  in  the  thicket  beside  his  path,  in  the 
still  forest,  was  engaged  that  protoplasmic  struggle,  of  which 
man's  greedy  fight  about  his  trough  was  the  apex  and  result. 
The  Evil  Will  whose  working  within  the  world  he  had  witnessed 
was  but  the  instinctive  movement  of  God's  earth-born  crea 
tures  to  get  for  self  what  would  fulfil  self.  Therefore  why 
protest,  why  renounce,  why  separate  from  that  warm 
human  fellowship  about  the  trough,  all  good  animals  together, 
in  the  healthy  strife  of  will,  each  for  each  to  triumph  ? 

The  stars  looked  down  from  heaven,  aloof,  upon  this 
struggle.  .  .  .  Nevertheless,  in  earth-born  man  there  had 
been  sown  the  seed  of  the  Other  Will,  the  will  for  good.  And 
to-night  to  this  one,  stript  of  all,  alone,  solitary  on  his  road, 
that  larger  spirit  spoke  within,  and  the  man  listened.  It 
spoke  with  authority  and  power,  "Thou  art  my  servant, 
and  whither  I  bid  thee  go,  there  shalt  thou  set  thy  feet,  and 
whatever  task  I  put  before  thee,  that  shalt  thou  do.  And 
thus  Peace ! "  .  .  .  For  the  eternal  strife  of  man  was  the  strife 
of  wills,  —  evil  and  good.  In  all  men  great  and  small,  weak 
and  strong,  something  of  pure  spirit  had  been  sown  to  deny 
the  evil  will  born  in  them.  From  this  hour,  from  the 
moment  when  desire  was  torn  out  of  him  in  that  last  cry, 
a  strange  power  entered  him,  —  the  power  to  perceive  in  every 
being  whom  he  met  upon  his  road  the  presence  of  this  spirit 
in  strife  within  him,  —  small  and  buried  deep  beneath  ugly 
desires,  or  like  a  vein  of  pure  gold  shining  in  all  that  was  said 
and  done.  But  always  there  behind  the  eyes,  unescapable 
and  compelling.  In  the  hunger  of  appetite,  or  the  madness  of 


THE  FOUNDLING  RETURNS  335 

passion,  in  mere  content,  there  was  always  behind  the  eyes 
this  exacting  will  that  might  slumber,  but  could  not  die, 
—  the  will  to  be  at  peace  with  self  and  life.  And  perceiving 
this  he  might  always  say  t*  himself,  "You  and  I  are  of  an 
understanding:  we  are  brothers  in  this  thing  called  life!"  .  .  . 

As  he  wandered  on  through  the  still  night,  his  unconscious 
steps  led  eastward  away  from  Paradise  Valley  toward  that 
country  he  had  known  as  a  boy.  Long  since  the  swift  car 
in  its  winged  flight  had  borne  the  escaping  woman  far  away 
to  other  horizons,  and  she  was  fading  from  the  current  of  his 
thought.  He  was  returning  little  by  little  to  that  which  he 
had  been,  to  the  life  within.  At  dawn  he  beheld  the  gray  sea 
behind  the  hills.  The  rich,  umbrageous  country  of  Paradise 
Valley  had  given  place  to  bare,  rocky  pastures,  the 
gnarled  and  stunted  trees  of  sea*-girt  farms.  He  stood 
upon  a  smooth,  rounded  hillside  above  the  marshes  where 
the  dark  tide  wove  in  and  out.  From  the  unbroken  deep  of 
that  gray  sea  he  had  drifted  up  into  life  just  here !  The  mother 
who  bore  him  had  left  him  adrift.  Who  was  she?  Some 
wanderer  in  life,  like  himself,  with  sad  eyes  intent  upon  the 
meaning  of  things?  Had  his  father  abandoned  her  in  the 
struggle  to  satisfy  a  wayward  desire?  Woven  of  these  twain, 
who  were  hid  from  him  in  the  dark,  he  had  the  double  seed 
in  him  of  flesh  and  of  spirit.  Life  had  come  to  him  double 
and  dark,  with  its  dual  impulse,  —  the  self  and  the  spirit 
not  self!  .  .  . 

The  salty  breath  of  the  flooded  marshes  filled  his  nostrils. 
The  sun  came  goldenly,  joyously,  into  the  little  town  under 
the  bending  elms.  Before  him  lay  the  wistful  mystery  of  the 
sea  and  the  beautiful  earth.  The  scent  of  the  autumn  fields 
was  sweet,  —  bayberry  and  alder,  aster  and  salty  marsh 
grass.  He  lay  in  the  dried  grasses,  watching  the  little  ships 
below  make  for  the  open  sea,  and  the  stress  of  weary  days 
slipped  from  his  mind,  —  the  argument  and  the  strife.  The 


1336  A   LIFE  FOR  A   LIFE 

earth  was  good,  life  to  be  lived,  a  solution  found  somewhere 
upon  the  road.  Here  where  he  had  been  cast  up,  a  bit  of 
wreckage  upon  the  shore,  he  came  back  to  himself  and  was 
alone  no  more.  For  life,  like  the  broad  horizon  of  the  unfold 
ing  sea,  compassed  him  within  its  arms. 

He  passed  on  his  way  by  Todd's  old  farm  with  its  familiar 
lane  and  fields :  the  place  had  taken  on  a  new  youth,  with 
paint  and  furbelows  of  veranda  and  porch.  A  motor  stood 
before  the  door.  Some  City  people  had  it  for  their  pleasure, 
while  May  and  Percy  had  put  forth  adventurously  into  the 
City  for  fortune.  Thus  desire  changed  with  desire  by  gener 
ations.  ...  At  nightfall  he  reached  the  little  house  in  the 
town  beside  the  church.  It  was  worn,  dingy,  the  gate  had 
gone;  a  vine  scraped  its  dusty  leaves  across  the  clouded 
panes.  To  his  knock  a  slatternly  middle-aged  woman 
opened  the  door  and  stared  doubtingly  at  the  stranger. 

"Hugh!"  she  exclaimed  at  last  with  a  trembling  mouth. 
"Come  in!" 

The  room  inside  was  stuffed  with  an  intolerable  disorder,  — 
the  habitation  of  a  feeble  and  indulgent  person  with  no  fixed 
aim  to  fulfil.  And  the  sallow,  fleshy  woman  with  disap 
pointed  mouth  who  sank  into  a  chair  and  looked  gapingly 
at  him  told  the  story  of  slipping  years.  He  had  sent  her 
money,  at  times  generously.  He  saw  that  money  had  not  been 
enough. 

"  I  never  thought  to  see  you  again,  Hugh,"  Nellie  blurted 
directly  of  her  wonder.  "How  are  you?" 

"  I  have  been  busy  about  my  affairs,"  he  answered.  Neither 
she  nor  her  children  had  been  for  much  in  those  affairs.  "  But 
now  I  shall  be  less  occupied." 

"Made  a  fortune,  I  suppose?"  she  suggested,  an  eager  smile 
on  her  sallow  face.  It  was  the  wish  she  had  expressed  when 
he  had  departed  from  this  house  years  before. 


THE  FOUNDLING  RETURNS  337 

"No!"  he  said,  conscious  of  the  disappointment  his  words 
would  bring.  "I  am  as  poor  as  when  I  left  here." 

"So!"  she  commented,  aghast.  "I  always  thought  you'd 
make  money." 

"I  have  made  money,  but  it  is  mine  no  longer,"  and  as  she 
accepted  this  statement  in  troubled  silence,  he  asked, 
"Where  are  the  children?" 

A  look  of  shamefaced  concern  covered  Nellie's  countenance. 

"Joe's  gone.  I  couldn't  keep  him  at  school.  He  got  rest 
less  —  wanted  to  try  the  City." 

"Why  didn't  you  let  me  know?" 

"Well — "  she  stammered. 

"You  didn't  want  to  trouble  me  —  I  see!  .  .  .  But  he 
must  go  to  school  again,  a  long  school." 

In  Nellie's  flabby  face  he  read  the  pitiable  realization  that 
her  children  had  "  turned  out  badly,"  as  the  saying  is,  and  that 
somehow  she  was  dimly  aware  of  the  fault  lying  in  herself 
and  ashamed  before  it. 

"Eve?"  he  asked. 

"  She's  working  in  the  mill.  She  ought  to  be  home  by  now. 
...  She  wanted  more  money  to  spend  than  I  could  give 
her.  Girls  want  things,  you  know,  and  Eve's  heady,  like  her 
father.  So  she  went  to  the  mill.  I  don't  know  as  it  does 
harm,  but  I  don't  like  the  girls  she's  with,  and  she  does  just 
what  she  pleases.  Father  never  would  have  liked  it,  —  her 
working  in  the  mill." 

Hugh  remembered  the  prejudices  of  the  mill  town.  For  a 
girl  of  farmer  family  to  go  into  the  mills  marked  a  social  de 
cline.  The  cluttered  house,  shabby  and  worn,  had  a  familiarly 
depressing  atmosphere,  like  the  dingy  town,  the  empty  church 
yard  outside.  Sitting  here  in  its  midst  once  more  —  the 
place  he  had  left  —  he  read  the  thoughts  of  the  woman  beside 
him,  —  surprise,  disappointment,  another  hope  dashed. 
Her  escape  lay  in  some  sudden  inflow  of  money,  the  power  to 


338  A  LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

transform  poor  things  into  rich  ones.  If  he  had  ridden  back 
to  her  in  power,  descended  upon  her  in  a  glitter  of  gold,  he 
might  have  performed  the  magician's  act  that  she  secretly 
longed  for.  He  rose  and  stood  by  the  window,  looking  across 
the  churchyard  to  the  gloomy  street. 

"  It  must  be  fine  living  in  the  City,"  Nellie  remarked.  Hugh 
saw  the  procession  along  the  avenues  that  made  Nellie's 
paradise,  —  the  dressed  women,  the  shops  filled  with  tempting 
things  that  now  she  could  never  expect  to  attain. 

"You  know,"  she  said,  " Percy  and  May  sold  the  farm  after 
their  father  died.  They  had  no  use  for  it!" 

"So  you  came  back  here?" 

"There  was  no  other  place."  And  she  added  in  the  dreary 
voice  of  one  who  was  accustomed  to  worldly  disappointment 
and  disintegration,  "I  always  thought  you  would  succeed." 

"I  have  what  is  best  for  me!"  Hugh  replied  with  a  flash. 
"And  now  we  must  change  all  this!" 

The  woman  looked  at  him  vacantly.  How  could  change 
for  the  better  be  wrought  without  money?  and  he  had  said 
that  he  had  none  —  no  more  than  when  he  left  years  before, 
a  youth.  Then  he  had  given  her  his  last  dollar. 

"I'd  like  something  better  for  the  children!"  she  sighed. 

"They  must  have  it  —  much  better!"  Hugh  affirmed. 
"And  your  husband  —  have  you  heard  from  him?" 

Nellie  flushed  and  replied  hesitantly. 

"Yes.  He's  been  sick.  ...  I  sent  him  some  money  to 
come  home.  But  he  didn't  come.  Perhaps  it  is  just  as  well ! " 

He  knew  that  she  was  lying  to  herself  in  saying  this. 

"That's  Eve!"  she  exclaimed,  as  a  girl's  form  came  past  the 
window. 

Presently  Eve  entered  the  room,  bringing  with  her  the 
buoyant  air  of  youth.  She  was  a  pretty  girl,  with  bright, 
salient  eyes  that  recalled  the  mother  in  her  girlhood  hope. 
Eve  sparkled  upon  the  stranger,  hovering  about  him  while  her 


THE  FOUNDLING  RETURNS  339 

mother  got  ready  the  evening  meal,  calling  him  "Uncle 
Hugh,"  with  soft  coquettish  tones.  This  unfamiliar  half- 
relative  was  supposed  to  have  been  vastly  successful  in  the 
great  outer  world,  and  already  behind  her  bright  eyes  were 
forming  ideas,  hopes,  brilliant  little  anticipations.  And  satis 
faction  for  the  girl,  as  for  the  mother,  Hugh  saw,  lay  in  gratifi 
cation  of  these  unattainable  desires. 

"Aren't  you  married  yet?"  she  demanded. 

"Not  yet,"  Hugh  replied. 

"I'd  think  the  girls'd  be  just  mad  after  you!" 

"Eve!"  the  mother  said,  weakly  admonishing  her 
audacity. 

"I'd  be!"  the  girl  laughed,  chatting  on. 

The  thoughts  in  her  mind  were  few  and  elementary,  such 
as  her  life  had  given  her,  and  as  she  talked  freely  of  the  mill 
and  her  friends  Hugh  read  her  little  heart,  brimming  with 
desires,  soft  pleasurable  wishes,  visions  of  sensuous  delights 
always  denied  to  her. 

The  squalor  of  the  dingy  room  was  nothing  compared  with 
the  forlorn  squalor  in  the  souls  of  these  two  women,  with  their 
feeble  wills  and  trivial  longings.  As  the  man  talked  with  them, 
listening  and  answering  questions,  he  might  well  wonder  if 
the  gold  so  much  desired  would  not  unlock  the  doors  to  their 
"larger  horizon"  more  speedily  than  any  other  key.  Eve 
was  the  exact  product  of  her  environment,  as  President  Butter- 
field  would  say.  Given  in  time  the  golden  shower,  the 
"chance,"  she  might  move  acceptably  in  drawing-rooms 
and  palatial  hotels. 

Indeed,  some  such  idea  occupied  the  mother's  thought,  for 
when  the  girl  was  busy  removing  the  dishes  she  remarked  to 
Hugh  with  abundant  pride :  — 

"Isn't  she  pretty?  And  so  quick  —  if  she  could  only 
have  her  chance!" 

Always  that  cry  —  the  chance!    For  what? 


340  A   LIFE  FOR  A   LIFE 

"Yes,"  Hugh  assented,  troubled.  "We  must  give  her  — 
something." 

He  spent  that  night  in  the  attic  chamber  that  he  had  left 
years  ago  to  seek  fortune.  That  fortune  was  yet  to  be  found. 
Here  in  the  gloom  of  the  little  things  of  his  beginning  must  be 
another  beginning.  He  dreamed,  but  no  vision  came  at  the 
dawn  from  the  bells  of  the  cracked  chimes.  .  .  . 

Below,  mother  and  daughter  debated  curiously  his  last  words, 
"  I  shall  return  —  there  must  be  a  change  in  all  this ! "  What 
could  he  mean  ?  And  pleasurably  agitated  they  slept  with  this 
hope  of  new  things. 

But  his  was  not  the  promise  of  things. 


XXXVIII 

THE   BLANK   WALL 

ARDENT,  equipped  with  affidavit  and  transcript  of  record, 
stern  of  purpose  to  right  -wrong,  the  knight  sets  forth  on  his 
lonely  road  to  the  assault  —  and  shivers  his  spear  against  a 
blank  wall !  For  the  castle  built  by  Arnold  and  Oliver  Whiting 
rests  on  solid  foundations,  —  law,  and  custom,  and  human 
nature. 

"This  administration,  you  must  understand,  is  not  radical: 
it  is  friendly  to  business. " 

With  this  significant  observation  the  smiling  subordinate 
in  the  government  department  closes  the  discussion  and  neatly 
pigeonholes  the  paper  bombshells  designed  to  blow  up  the 
Universal  Power  Company,  —  that  ammunition  patiently 
gathered  after  tireless  labors  in  a  dozen  states  of  the  nation. 

"  Not  enough  evidence  of  fraudsto  warrant  bringing  suit.  .  .  . 
Some  irregularities,  doubtless,  in  methods  of  acquiring 
title  to  lands.  .  .  .  Mere  suspicions  of  fraud  in  franchises, 
etc." 

Thomas  Talbot  is  a  sound  builder.  He  leaves  no  loose 
ends,  no  weak  holes. 

"Your  evidence,"  so  continues  bland  officialdom,  having 
received  from  its  superior  the  proper  cue,  "  merely  gives 
ground  for  suspicion  of  motive:  we  must  await  more 
positive  proof." 

This  is  as  high  in  the  hierarchy  of  government  as  the 
knight  has  been  able  to  penetrate  after  months  of  delays  and 
a  winding  course  in  and  out  of  bureaus  and  departments  where 
an  impalpable  cloud  of  obstruction  has  met  him. 


342  A   LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

The  official,  who  has  a  sense  of  humor  and  a  taste  for  psy 
chology,  tips  back  in  his  chair  and  eyes  the  baffled  knight. 
From  his  superior  he  has  learned  that  this  man  is  a  "down 
and  outer,"  some  disgruntled  employee  of  the  great  corpora 
tion,  seeking  revenge  by  "stirring  up  trouble."  And  the  sub 
ordinate,  who  is  cherishing  political  ambitions  and  knows  the 
north  wind  from  the  south,  sees  in  his  visitor  one  of  those 
"fanatic,"  "unpractical"  persons,  who  help  to  create  "hys 
teria,"  and  he  becomes  philosophical:  — 

"You  can  agitate,  of  course,"  he  sneers.  "The  papers  and 
magazines  will  help  you,  no  doubt.  But  what  good  will  it  do? 
The  country  is  sick  of  agitation.  It  wants  to  get  down  to  busi 
ness,  after  the  late  emperor's  disturbing  reign." 

And  as  the  baffled  one  withdraws,  he  adds :  — 

"Yours  is  the  wrong  point  of  view,  Mr.  Grant.  On  the 
whole  this  power  company  is  doing  a  great  work  for  the 
development  of  the  country,  a  work  that  only  strong  men  with 
the  capital  such  men  can  command  could  do.  No  individual, 
as  far  as  I  can  see,  has  suffered  — " 

"And  the  public?" 

The  suave  official  makes  an  amused  gesture. 

"Oh,  the  public,  the  dear  public!  My  dear  sir,  the 
prosperity  of  this  country  is  built  upon  wrongs  to  the 
public." 

"True!" 

"And  if  these  wrongs,  as  they  are  called,  had  not  been  per 
mitted,  what  sort  of  a  country  would  it  be  to-day?" 

"A  more  honest  one." 

"Honest !  A  country  of  villages,  my  dear  sir,  instead  of  this 
big,  thriving  nation.  What  is  best  for  the  people  —  and  the 
wise  ones  know  it  —  is  activity,  business,  enterprise,  not  this 
digging  into  the  mud  of  the  past.  .  .  .  The  thing  is  done. 
Let  the  next  generation  take  care  of  itself  —  no  doubt  it  will 
find  a  way." 


THE  BLANK   WALL  343 

With  this  cheerful  optimism  officialdom  brings  its  chair 
to  the  floor  and  smilingly  terminates  the  interview. 

Again,  "Let  us  alone,  that  we  may  prosper!"  But  the 
knight  demurs:  — 

"I  will  take  your  advice:  I  will  agitate,  as  you  call  it. 
.  .  .  The  shame  of  shames  is  that  here  at  the  seat  of  gov 
ernment  itself,  where  the  people  should  be  a  nation,  their 
servants  are  the  servants  of  their  enemies." 

"  Think  it  over!  You  may  get  a  more  balanced  view 
of  things." 

And  the  subordinate  advises  his  superior  that  the  "crank" 
has  been  disposed  of  for  the  moment,  and  they  laugh  together. 
For  the  superior  is  none  other  than  Oliver  Whiting,  former 
president  of  the  great  Bank  of  the  Republic.  Surely  the  knight 
is  simple  fool  if  he  thinks  to  kill  a  dragon  in  an  administration 
so  distinctly  "friendly  to  business  "  as  this  one! 

So  this  modern  knight  goes  his  way,  with  sober  reflection, 
realizing  the  magnitude  of  the  task,  his  stout  heart  somewhat 
shaken  by  this  tilt  against  the  blank  wall.  He  consults  with 
his  legal  advisers,  who  propose  this  and  that  measure  of  flank 
attack  upon  the  intrenched  stronghold.  But  their  cunning 
comes  to  naught. 

"Public  opinion  must  be  aroused,"  they  say.  "Public 
opinion  is  a  mighty  force  yet  in  this  country." 

Is  it?    He  will  try. 

He  turns  to  that  skilful  manipulator  of  public  opinion, 
Percy  Todd,  once  Gossom's  handy  man,  then  editor  of  Ambi 
tion.  Now  Todd  has  become  managing  editor  of  the  Daily 
Judgment,  a  mighty  metropolitan  sheet.  He  has  grown  stout 
and  solid,  these  years,  and  bears  the  undoubted  stamp  of  the 
Symbol.  Success  is  written  plain  in  every  character  of  his 
person,  in  the  glance  of  his  keen  eye  and  the  competent  curve 
of  his  chin.  He  is  to  be  found  mingling  familiarly  with  the 


344  A   LIFE   FOR  A   LIFE 

masters  of  the  market  in  that  same  lefty  club  where  Hugh 
Grant  was  first  initiated  in  the  steps  of  power.  With  a  hand 
on  the  little  white  tape  of  the  ticker,  he  greets  Hugh  Grant 
amiably. 

" Power,"  he  says,  glancing  again  at  the  tape,  "is  doing 
fine!  I  hear  they  are  making  big  earnings  this  year." 

He  has  been  betting  on  "Power  common,"  and  the  moving 
tape  records  the  fractions  of  his  growing  fortune.  He 
is  wondering  whether  the  moment  has  not  arrived 
to  take  the  other  side  of  the  gamble.  The  big  fellows  who 
are  running  "Power"  have  a  way  of  shaking  out  the  public 
once  in  so  often,  and  he  shrewdly  suspects  that  the  occasion  for 
this  periodic  turn  of  the  dice  is  fast  approaching.  He  has 
heard  it  whispered  that  suits  are  to  be  brought, — nothing,  of 
course,  serious,  —  but  it  is  enough  to  frighten  the  timid  "in 
vestor."  "Power"  is  all  right,  —  the  last  of  the  good  big 
things  that  the  masters  have  tossed  to  the  "public,"  sure  to 
go  higher.  On  this  rumor  of  twenty  per  cent  earnings  the 
"Republic  crowd"  maybe  minded  to  put  the  stock  up  another 
ten  points  at  once.  Shall  he  buy  or  sell?  Grant  may  know 
something  from  the  "inside,"  which  will  give  him  a  hint  as 
to  which  way  the  dice  is  loaded  to  lie. 

The  two  converse  at  one  of  the  little  tables,  the  publicity 
man  listening  with  all  his  attention,  "taking  in"  the  man 
opposite  him,  his  indifferent  dress,  his  eager  eyes. 

"I  remember,"  Hugh  says,  "that  you  once  wanted 
some  articles  from  me  on  Power.  I  have  material  of  public 
interest  that  I  could  give  you,"  and  he  describes  his 
investigations  into  the  unwritten  history  of  the  Universal 
Power  Company. 

Now  Todd  listens  with  less  sympathy,  having  determined 
that  Hugh  Grant  is  "down  and  out,"  mere  "agitator." 

"Not  for  our  paper,"  he  says,  referring  to  the  Judgment. 
"Of  course  we  print  the  news,  all  the  news.  But  we  don't 


THE  BLANK   WALL  345 

go  in  for  financial  scandal.  We  are  conservative.  What  the 
country  needs  just  now  is  rest,  —  quiet,  so  that  business  can 
go  ahead.  Attacking  corporations  doesn't  pay;  the  April 
panic  proved  that!" 

"But  the  public—" 

"Our  public  is  sick  of  business  disturbance." 

The  Daily  Judgment  is  owned,  secretly,  by  a  little  group  of 
the  "Republic  crowd,"  who  find  it  to  their  advantage  to  main 
tain  a  metropolitan  paper  that  is  "conservative,"  "friendly 
to  business."  If  the  knight  had  been  familiar  with  the  edi 
torial  page  of  the  Judgment,  he  would  never  have  opened  his 
heart  to  Todd,  who  is  a  faithful  mouthpiece  of  his  masters. 

"What  do  you  want  to  mix  up  in  this  sort  of  thing  for?" 
the  publicity  man  asks,  finally,  with  a  superior  air.  "I  can 
give  you  a  card  to  Parsons,  who  is  running  the  People's.  He'll 
take  your  stuff,  no  doubt,  and  there  are  no  end  of  cheap  ten- 
centers  that  would  be  glad  of  the  chance.  But  it's  a  mistake. 
This  country  is  sound  at  heart,  and  conservative.  We  are  a 
business  people,  and  a  big  majority  of  the  people  have  no  use 
for  socialistic  attacks  upon  business.  As  long  as  business 
is  good  and  wages  are  high,  the  trusts  can  do  as  they  like. 
People  talk,  but  that's  all.  .  .  .  Agitation  is  a  business  like 
any  other  —  and  a  dangerous  business.  I  advise  you  to  keep 
out  of  it." 

And  thus  the  mouthpiece,  who  has  taken  his  philosophy  of 
life  from  his  masters  as  he  takes  his  food,  gives  sage  advice. 
In  a  word,  it  is  the  old  song,  "Let  us  alone!  All  will  be 
well,  if  you  will  cease  from  troubling  us."  Todd  looks  at  his 
watch  and  excuses  himself.  Later  when  he  meets  his  sister 
he  says  casually :  — 

"I  saw  Hugh  Grant  to-day  —  looks  seedy,  rather.  He  was 
always  queer.  I  never  believed  in  him.  He  must  have  done 
something  damned  bad  to  be  dropped  by  the  Power  people." 

"You  say  he  was  shabby?" 


346  A  LIFE  FOR  A   LIFE 

"  Rather  —  too  intense.    Reformer  now ! " 

May,  the  mistress  of  a  smart  little  establishment  in  the  right 
quarter  of  the  city,  wife  of  a  prosperous  specialist  in  nervous 
diseases,  smiles  dreamily  to  herself.  Fate  was  good  to  her 
when  it  denied  her  what  she  had  wanted  there  in  the  orchard 
road!  But  if  she  had  had  him  in  hand,  —  perhaps.  .  .  . 

"We  are  dining  at  the  Rickers'  to-night,"  she  remarks  to 
her  brother,  in  a  tone  that  attempts  to  conceal  social 
triumph. 

While  May  is  being  entertained  at  one  of  the  " second-table" 
dinners  given  by  the  stockbroker's  wife, — Arnold's  ex-mistress, 
— the  knight  is  meditating  another  attack  upon  the  intrenched 
castle,  in  that  attic  room  opposite  the  blazing  sign,  where 
he  has  once  more  taken  up  his  quarters,  having  found  it 
deserted  by  its  former  tenant,  who  has  disappeared.  He  has 
seen  the  editor  of  the  People's,  and  has  received  encouragement 
from  that  excitable  moulder  of  public  opinion. 

"Make  it  bite!"  the  editor  said,  banging  his  desk  with 
clenched  fist.  "Don't  smother  it  with  figures  and  arguments. 
Get  in  Arnold  and  all  the  Republic  crowd.  Show  'em  up  so 
the  plain  man  can  understand  how  they  work  the  shell- 
game." 

It  was  the  personal  side  that  the  public  wanted.  They 
demanded  a  villain,  —  the  more  unreal  and  villainous  the 
better.  The  crime  perpetrated  upon  unborn  generations 
had  no  large  appeal  for  the  man  on  the  street.  "Show  him 
how  they  take  the  dollar  out  of  HIS  pocket!"  said  the  editor, 
coaching  this  amateur. 

As  his  stiff  fingers  work  at  the  unaccustomed  task  of  phras 
ing  in  written  language  facts  and  beliefs  and  feelings  that  are 
burnt  into  his  being,  the  personal  side  of  the  great  case 
begins  to  lose  color  and  importance  to  him.  Instead  of 
"getting  in"  Arnold  and  "the  Republic  crowd,"  these  per- 


THE  BLANK   WALL^  347 

sonages  become  vaguer,  less  important,  —  mere  mechanical 
instruments  in  the  hands  of  a  tyrannous  destiny.  As  slowly 
he  traces  the  story  of  his  own  life,  in  the  beams  shed  by 
Gossom's  blazing  Symbol,  he  sees  not  Alexander  Arnold,  the 
courtly  Talbot,  the  energetic  banker  Whiting;  he  sees  faces 
and  forms  of  innumerable  men  and  women  toiling  in  the 
clutch  of  an  intricate  industrial  machine,  without  hope, 
without  release.  The  silent  multitude,  whose  fate  it  is  to 
sell  their  lives  in  the  great  market  for  bare  existence,  —  these 
are  the  protagonists  of  the  industrial  drama,  not  the  acci 
dental  figures  whose  hands  guide  the  machine.  They  are 
but  chance  expressions  of  that  Evil  Will,  lambently  spread 
abroad  upon  Gossom's  beams  of  light,  absorbed  by  millions 
and  millions  of  aspiring  souls  as  gospel,  —  Success,  the  selfish 
will  to  possess!  'Tis  an  endless  chain  of  Evil  to  which 
Plundered  and  Plunderer  are  alike  bound.  The  heat  of  his 
heart  goes  out  to  the  silent  multitude  that  pays  toll.  .  .  . 

"It  won't  do!"  the  luminary  of  the  People's  pronounces 
when  the  written  story  is  put  before  him.  "  You've  got  the 
stuff,  but  it's  too  mild  —  all  covered  up.  It  looks  as  if  you 
wanted  to  let  those  fellows  off.  I  was  afraid  of  that.  You 
see,  you  haven't  had  the  training  of  the  journalist."  And  he 
calls  in  a  clever  young  man,  who  has  already  achieved  repute 
for  his  thrilling  "exposures,"  and  says:  — 

"Lamb  will  show  you  what  we  want." 

The  young  man  proceeds  to  "interview"  Hugh  Grant  that 
evening  in  the  attic  room,  seeking  to  extract  from  him  special 
information  as  to  who  owns  the  stock  of  the  power  company, 
who  "got  the  stuff."  "We  must  fix  it  on  somebody,"  he 
says  positively.  "Old  Arnold  holding  the  common  man  by 
the  throat  with  his  control  of  Power  —  great  subject!" 

He  seeks  to  unveil  some  special  scandal,  which  the  magazine- 
reader  will  devour  avidly.  The  tale  of  Arnold's  dallying  with 
Conny  Rickers,  or  the  exotic  loves  of  Ravi,  would  be  more  to 


348  A  LIFE  FOR  A   LIFE 

the  public  taste.  Our  knight  begins  to  realize  sadly  that  even 
in  the  eyes  of  this  "reform  journalist/'  the  sin  against  the 
eighth  commandment  is  more  heinous  than  the  sin  of 
plunder. 

The  sin  of  plunder  —  a  mere  phrase  to  all  men  of  the  day! 
It  is  the  spirit  of  the  age,  the  race,  to  take  what  the  might  of 
the  good  right  hand  provides.  ...  In  disgust  he  hands 
over  his  notes  and  papers,  requesting  the  journalist  to  make 
what  use  he  can  of  his  material,  stipulating  merely  that  no 
gross  personalities  shall  be  allowed  to  appear. 

"For  it  is  not  a  personal  matter.  It  is  the  crime  of  the 
Nation,  in  which  all  participate,  —  the  worship  of  Success!" 
He  points  to  the  glowing  Symbol. 

"A  good  phrase!"  the  journalist  cries,  not  understanding 
its  meaning.  "I'll  work  that  in,  anyway." 

After  the  young  man  has  gone,  Hugh  Grant  sits  for  long  hours 
gazing  into  the  steady  light  from  the  Symbol.  He  has  spent 
his  money  in  fruitless  effort,  he  has  spent  his  days  and  his 
heart  in  this  futile  tilt  against  the  blank  wall!  When  the 
People's  prints  the  attack  upon  Power,  it  will  be  but  another 
sensational,  vulgar  shocker  that  the  public  takes,  as  it 
would  take  a  cocktail,  and  forgets  straightway.  It  would 
not  even  stir  the  market  for  "Power  common  and  preferred." 
Men  would  frown  or  laugh,  and  go  their  way  again  about 
their  "business"  in  the  "pursuit  of  happiness." 

And  he  begins  to  see  that  officialdom  is  perhaps  right  in 
its  desire  to  let  the  dead  past  rot  in  its  wrong.  The  Evil  is 
not  to  be  reached  by  Law  or  Prosecution.  The  wrong  is  not 
to  be  righted  by  court  or  legislation.  It  is  too  deep  for  that! 
It  is  within. 

So  the  knight  defeated  lays  aside  the  spear  and  unbuckles 
the  sword,  sitting  in  meditation  under  the  beams  of  golden 
light  from  the  electric  sign.  The  great  Symbol  covers  him 
with  a  mocking  eye,  demanding  scornfully:  — 


THE   BLANK   WALL  349 

"Well,  my  friend,  what  have  you  done  with  yourself? 
How  effective  have  you  been?" 

And  the  man  knows  that,  judged  by  every  popular  standard, 
he  has  proved  himself  incompetent,  ineffective,  as  Alexander 
Arnold  predicted,  —  a  Failure!  A  mere  Failure! 

He  rises  with  a  cry  of  defiance,  —  "  No ! "  •  —  and  he  murmurs 
to  the  mocking  Symbol,  "Oh,  you  whore  of  Babylon!  You 
are  the  core  of  all  the  evil.  You  suck  the  very  soul 
from  men!" 

The  beams  of  the  great  sign  fall  blandly  upon  his  drawn 
face. 

On  the  morrow  our  knight  must  earn  his  living. 


XXXIX 

INTO   THE  RANKS 

" TO-DAY  I  must  find  a  job!"  With  this  tonic  thought  our 
knight  awakes  the  next  morning  and  lies  staring  at  the  mass  of 
tangled  wires  and  scantling  that  form  the  huge  letters  of 
Gossom's  sign  across  the  way.  The  great  eye  of  the  nation's 
soul  is  blank;  instead  of  its  yellow  beams,  the  sun  of  a  crisp 
autumn  morning  invades  the  attic  chamber.  The  gold  that 
the  Symbol  has  poured  into  his  pockets  while  he  served  it  has 
now  run  out,  vainly  spent  in  his  futile  tilt  with  the  blank  wall. 
The  literary  labors  he  has  been  engaged  in  of  late  in  the 
effort  to  set  forth  his  burning  experience  tempt  him  strangely. 
He  would  like  to  earn  his  bread  in  some  such  way.  But  he 
has  not  that  " training  of  the  journalist."  "Our  business  is 
to  entertain  the  public,"  said  the  editor  of  the  People's.  Hugh 
laughs  at  the  idea  of  his  entertaining  Gossom's  public  with 
the  truth  within  him.  .  .  .  This  bright  autumn  morning  he 
thinks  of  the  mountains  where  he  might  earn  his  bread  in  the 
primitive  way  of  man  with  his  hands,  —  there  in  the  open 
where  the  social  impact  has  not  yet  begun  its  deadly  grind, 
where  men  are  free,  at  least  seemingly,  beneath  the  sky.  But 
this  is  his  world,  —  the  resounding  City,  with  its  clamorous 
cry.  And  first  of  all,  immediate  to  him,  there  are  Nellie  and 
the  children,  Joe  and  Eve.  They  must  have  their  bread  — 
and  more  than  bread.  He  has  promised  them,  he  has  prom 
ised  himself,  and  that  promise  he  will  fulfil.  Thus  the  warring 
knight  disappears,  and  plain  man  emerges.  Metaphorically 
he  shakes  his  fist  at  the  blank  Symbol,  but  prosaically  he  gets 
out  of  bed  and  dons  his  clothes. 

350 


INTO  THE  RANKS  351 

He  fared  forth  into  the  streets,  once  more  the  stranger, 
the  loose  unit,  in  search  of  his  place,  his  attachment  in  life. 
It  was  gay  this  brilliant  autumn  morning,  full  of  fleeting  winds 
and  warm  light.  The  volume  of  people  in  the  City  seemed  to 
be  ever  on  the  increase,  crowding  the  pavements,  dammed 
up  in  little  groups  at  the  crossings.  Like  this,  alone,  years 
before  he  had  set  forth  in  search  of  the  one  name  known  to  him, 
and  to-day,  drifting  with  the  stream  upward  along  the  avenue, 
he  remembered  the  past  and  all  that  it  had  meant  to  him  — 
that  one  name  among  the  millions.  What  it  had  meant  to  him 
in  experience,  in  human  knowledge,  in  desire  and  in  sorrow! 
He  would  not  have  it  other  than  it  was,  all  waste  as  it  appar 
ently  had  been  if  the  accounts  were  to  be  cast  at  this  moment 
of  the  full  ten  years.  And  with  the  promise  of  the  beautiful 
day,  the  truth  came  to  him,  assuringly,  that  nothing  in  this 
life  was  waste,  pure  waste,  neither  knowledge,  nor  disappoint 
ment,  nor  sorrow  —  least  of  all  sorrow !  .  .  .  Up  the  City  he 
wandered,  following  unconsciously  his  former  road,  past  the 
gay  shops  thronged  with  buyers,  through  the  busy  streets. 
He  smiled  at  the  picture  of  himself  as  he  was  then,  the  youth 
agape  at  the  city  toys,  staring  in  at  shop  windows,  admiring  the 
profuse  dress  of  the  women,  the  display  and  abundance  of  the 
great  City.  To-day  all  this  meant  no  more  to  him  than  to  the 
ragged  loafer  at  the  curb,  staring  at  the  phantasmagoria  of 
the  sensual  show  of  things.  Like  a  ghost  the  man  passed 
through  the  allurements  for  every  appetite  arranged  enticingly 
to  excite  the  throng. 

Yet  he  was  not  alone  in  all  that  crowd  of  unknown  faces,  as 
he  had  been  before.  For  though  he  passed  like  a  ghost  at 
the  feast  of  desire,  he  had  a  warm  sense  of  the  men  and  women 
about  him,  an  intimate  understanding  and  love  for  them  as 
never  before.  .  .  .  Not  in  isolation  of  mountain  solitude, 
not  in  loneliness,  must  life  be  lived  out,  a  personal  solution 
simply,  but  in  touch  with  these^the  many  of  the  City  street, 


352  A  LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

in  that  place  where  he  had  been  drawn  first :  he  must  flow  on 
like  these  through  the  city  channels,  in  the  great  congregation 
of  men,  touching  them,  sharing  with  them,  partaking  of  the 
common  impulses  with  them.  The  solitary  died.  .  .  . 

There  was  a  church  upon  the  street,  far  up  the  City  near 
where  Arnold  lived,  a  church  with  a  strange  portal  copied 
from  some  ancient  cathedral  and  celebrated  for  its  beauty; 
nevertheless  out  of  place  and  unbeautiful  in  its  present  place, 
like  the  allegory  upon  its  bronze  doors,  like  the  ceremonies 
enacted  within,  —  forms  and  vestments  from  which  the 
meaning  had  utterly  departed.  .  .  .  To-day  there  was  a  rich 
red  carpet  spread  through  the  portal  to  the  street,  and  a  long 
line  of  motors  and  carriages  was  slowly  approaching  at  the 
noon  hour.  Hugh,  passing  at  his  leisurely  pace,  was  caught  in 
the  jam  of  the  curious  about  the  doors  of  the  church.  A 
marriage  or  a  funeral  had  taken  place  within,  it  was  evident. 
For  the  pagan  dwellers  in  this  community  still  held  to  the 
superstition  of  having  these  ceremonies  performed  at  the 
hands  of  the  church.  The  social  tradition  thus  outlasted  the 
religious  in  the  people!  The  strains  of  organ  music  rolled 
out  into  the  street,  as  the  guests  poured  from  the  church, 
and  the  packed  gazers  craned  their  heads  to  get  sight  of  the 
festive  ones,  in  a  good-natured  curiosity,  a  sympathetic 
good  will  for  the  wedded  pair.  In  the  street  a  number  of 
police  tried  to  straighten  out  the  confusion  and  press  back  the 
curious  crowd.  Hugh,  caught  thus  near  the  curb,  became 
aware  of  familiar  faces  among  the  finely  dressed  people  who 
were  emerging  from  the  church  and  seeking  their  cars  and 
carriages.  That  large  woman  with  waving  plumes  in  her 
black  hat,  her  little  muff  caught  up  to  her  giggling  lips,  a 
flutter  of  dangling  ornaments  on  her  gown,  was  the  broker's 
wife,  Conny  Rickers,  and  the  man  with  her  was  not  the  pudgy 
broker,  but  little  Michael  Ravi,  elegant  and  faded,  the  man  of 
fashion  plus  the  man  of  action.  And  there  was  Nathaniel 


INTO  THE  RANKS  353 

Butterfield,  who  never  missed  a  notable  function,  in  his  charac 
ter  of  one  who  "  keeps  in  touch."  He  was  conversing  with  old 
Arnold,  and  followed  him  into  his  car.  .  .  .  Hugh  started 
with  a  sudden  swift  pain  at  his  heart,  quickening  his  memory. 
It  shot  through  him  that  this  must  be  her  marriage  day,  and 
this  triumphant  organ  march  was  a  paean  to  her  and  Oliver 
Whiting !  He  pushed  his  way  through  the  mass,  and  hastened 
his  pace,  head  down.  At  the  corner  he  was  again  delayed  by  a 
cross  current  of  traffic,  and,  looking  up  into  the  window  of  a 
great  motor  that  was  panting  slowly  through  the  press,  he  saw 
Alexandra  and  her  husband.  She  was  pale  and  her  face  was 
thin.  The  bridal  crown  scarcely  rested  on  her  beautiful 
waving  hair.  Her  eyes  looked  up  and  out  through  the  window, 
while  her  husband  was  speaking.  The  banker  was  handsome, 
—  a  strong,  vigorous  face  at  its  flood  of  triumph.  .  .  .  For  a 
long  moment  thus!  Then  the  car  freed  itself  from  the  press 
and  began  to  move  forward.  Alexandra  turned  her  head,  and 
the  thoughtful  gaze  from  her  gray  eyes  fell  upon  the  crowded 
street,  swept  downward  until  it  met  the  man  on  the  curb. 
They  looked,  and  her  eyes  returned  to  her  husband  by  her  side. 
.  .  .  Hugh  stumbled  across  the  street  in  the  confusion  of 
vehicles  and  frightened  pedestrians,  was  caught  roughly  by 
an  officer,  shoved  aside,  and  finally  emerged  in  a  quieter 
spot,  blinded,  his  heart  beating  hard. 

The  present  had  been  torn  aside,  and  the  old  desire  leaped 
madly  forth,  the  self  that  demanded  her,  the  loved  woman. 
The  City  danced  uncertainly  before  his  eyes,  in  a  swirl  of  build 
ings  and  persons,  and  he  was  blind.  An  organ-grinder  who 
was  turning  his  battered  instrument,  crouched  by  the  door 
of  a  house,  held  up  a  grimy  hand.  Mechanically  he  reached 
for  a  coin  and  dropped  it  in  the  waiting  hand  and  passed  on. 
Then  slowly  the  will  within  righted  itself  over  his  being,  and 
he  saw  the  throbbing  City  once  more,  and  life  and  Alexandra 
and  himself.  .  .  .  The  job  was  to  be  found,  and  life  lived. 

2A 


354  A  LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

The  bright  sunlight  fell  upon  the  marble  columns  of  the 
Bank  of  the  Republic,  shining  fair  and  soft  in  spite  of  the  City 
smoke.  The  bronze  gates  were  invitingly  open,  and  the  mas 
sive  doors  pushed  back.  Hugh  hesitated,  then  entered. 
He  had  never  been  within  Oliver  Whiting's  monument,  and  he 
was  idly  minded  to  have  a  look  at  this  celebrated  temple  of 
property.  Within  the  entrance  hall  two  broad  flights  of 
marble  steps  with  massive  balustrades  of  veined  marble  led  to 
the  upper  stories.  The  light  flooded  here,  touching  the  colored 
stone,  the  heavy  bronze.  It  was  rich  and  massive  and  sub 
dued.  A  huge  bronze  candelabrum  stood  by  the  doors, 
beside  which  was  placed  like  a  statue  a  liveried  servant.  Be 
neath  the  stairway  was  the  entrance  to  the  main  banking- 
room,  and  here  all  was  dim,  the  light  filtering  cunningly 
from  disguised  apertures  in  the  lofty  dome.  The  great  room 
with  its  marble-lined  dome  and  marble  screen  and  benches 
—  all  of  a  pale  Verona  marble  almost  translucent  — 
had  the  effect  of  religious  solemnity  and  repose.  Across 
its  broad  marble  floor  men  came  and  went;  before  the  little 
windows  in  the  marble  screen  men  stood  in  line  and  exchanged 
words  with  the  priestly  attendants  within.  There  were  many 
people  in  the  room,  more  business  than  ever.  Yet  the  size 
and  the  proportion  and  the  domed  vastness  of  the  place  sub 
merged  the  busy  throng,  also  produced  a  hush,  as  befits  a  tem 
ple,  upon  the  profane  men  of  business.  It  was  the  triumph,  as 
a  piece  of  modern  adaptation,  of  that  notable  architect  Herbert 
Ellgood,  —  the  conversion  of  a  Greek  temple  into  a  temple  of 
commerce.  Beneath  the  dome  there  was  nothing  but  this 
pale  gray  marble.  Instead  of  the  ostentatious  display  of  gold 
and  paper  money  behind  wire  screens,  here  every  sign  of 
money  was  suppressed,  hidden  away  in  the  inner  portions  of 
the  edifice.  The  attendants  of  the  temple  spoke  through 
narrow  apertures  in  the  marble  screen,  and  the  oracles  of  the 
higher  gods  stationed  above  or  down  below  were  transmitted 


INTO  THE  RANKS  355 

to  the  waiting  supplicants  in  subdued  whisperings  through 
this  marble  screen.  The  architect  had  striven  for  a  wonder 
ful  effect  by  excluding  all  metal  and  wood  and  highly 
colored  stone,  relying  solely  upon  light  filtered  indirectly  on 
pale,  translucent  marble.  It  was  what  the  newspapers 
described  as  "  chaste."  Footsteps  scarcely  echoed  in  the 
great  room.  .  .  . 

One  of  the  liveried  attendants  was  guiding  a  party  through 
the  place,  pointing  out  its  marvels.  Hugh  overheard  his 
catalogue  of  dazzling  figures:  "The  land  cost  three  millions  of 
dollars,  and  the  building  itself  a  million  and  a  half.  In  this 
building  there  is  kept  over  a  hundred  millions  of  money,  and 
bonds  and  securities  that  would  mount  up  to  half  a  billion  of 
dollars,  not  counting  the  papers  in  the  private  boxes  below 
stairs.  It  took  five  six-horse  drays  to  cart  this  wealth  from  the 
old  bank  the  time  they  moved.  And  there  were  twenty 
mounted  policemen  to  guard  the  drays,  and  dozens  of  detec 
tives  in  plain  clothes."  .  .  . 

A  sigh  of  wonder  and  awe  escaped  the  listening  group  at  each 
stanza  of  the  epic  enumeration.  .  .  . 

"Each  one  of  them  pillars,"  the  guide  continued,  "is  solid 
Eyetalian  marble,  each  one  forty-eight  feet  long  and  four 
feet  through  at  the  base,  all  solid  marble  — " 

Sotto  voce,  "Solid  marble,  all  of  'em  — think  of  that!" 
" —  each  one  was  brought  from  Italy  —  they're  exact  copies 
of  pillars  in  an  ancient  temple,"  etc.  The  admiring  party 
moved  away  to  stand  in  the  centre  of  the  room  and  gape  up 
ward  at  the  airy  dome  while  the  guide  poured  forth  his  stream 
of  figures.  As  they  trooped  out  of  the  great  banking  chamber 
Hugh  heard  the  murmur,  "Over  half  a  billion  dollars  of 
vally'bles,  —  oh,  my ! "  And  the  wonder  escaped  in  a  whistle, 
half  sigh.  The  mind  was  aghast  at  the  volume  of  radiance, 
joy,  desire,  distilled  and  stored  in  this  magnificent  temple  of 
property!  At  the  entrance  a  draggled  street  wanderer  stood 


356  A   LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

and  peered  through  the  dim  light  of  the  place  into  the  marble 
vault  of  the  great  dome.  Hugh  watched  him  in  amused  specu 
lation.  What  were  the  ideas  passing  through  the  brain  of  this 
waif  as  he  beheld  the  majestic  room?  At  the  door  Hugh 
recognized  beneath  his  uniform  the  familiar  figure  of  the  old 
porter  Mike,  who  respectfully  touched  his  hat. 

" First  time  you've  been  in?  You  don't  say,  sir!  They 
come  by  thousands  to  see  the  bank.  Been  down  to  the  vaults? 
Oh,  you  ought  to  see  the  vaults  —  they're  very  remarkable, 
every  one  says.  There,  sir,  to  the  right!" 

And  fairly  ushered  down  the  hidden  stairs,  Hugh  descended 
to  the  underworld  of  the  bank.  The  party  of  visitors  were 
gaping  through  the  heavy  steel  bars  of  the  outer  gate  of  the 
vaults.  The  watchman,  recognizing  Hugh,  swung  open  the 
gate  and  admitted  him  to  the  vault.  Before  the  huge  steel 
door,  like  an  enormous  eye,  sat  the  special  guardian  of  the 
place,  —  a  large  fat  man  whom  Hugh  remembered.  He 
had  grown  heavier  and  rounder  with  the  weight  of  his  in 
creased  cares,  and  sat  like  an  enormous  chubby  bird  behind 
his  desk  at  the  door  of  the  steel  storehouse.  He  reached  a 
hand  to  Hugh  and  asked  huskily :  — 

"Come  to  see  the  vaults,  Mr.  Grant?" 

Then  he  slipped  from  his  perch  and  waddled  to  the  great 
round  door. 

"It  weighs  fifteen  tons,"  he  sighed  asthmatically.  "It- 
has  six  time  clocks." 

He  gave  the  huge  metal  mass  a  light  push,  and  it  moved 
easily  on  its  hinges,  like  a  precise  instrument. 

"The  largest  and  best  one  ever  made!" 

He  waddled  on  through  the  round  aperture  into  the  stuffy, 
steel-lined  vault,  and  explained  minutely  the  intricate  system 
pursued  to  meet  cunning  fraud.  Some  customers  who  were 
opening  their  boxes  looked  at  the  two  and  frowned  suspiciously. 
The  vault-keeper  wheezed  on  in  his  recital  of  armor-plate 


INTO  THE  RANKS  357 

thickness,  quality  of  metal,  etc.,  enthusiastically  demonstrating 
the  impregnability  of  the  strong  box.  They  emerged  from  the 
steel  vault,  glittering  with  electric  light  like  a  jewel  box, 
and  descended  a  short  flight  of  steps  into  a  dark  pit. 

"The  Bank,"  wheezed  the  guide,  "rests  on  bed  rock, 
but  the  vaults  are  elevated  —  they  rest  on  these  masonry 
piers." 

Out  of  the  dark  emerged  the  figure  of  a  man  who  turned  and 
patrolled  the  narrow  space. 

"Watchmen  here  all  the  time!"  whispered  the  guide,  "one 
in  daytime,  and  two  at  night!  See?  No  danger  of  excavation, 
coming  up  under  the  vault  —  sure  to  be  caught." 

It  was  marvellous,  like  the  great  dome  above,  the  ingenious 
protection  that  man  had  devised  to  secure  his  property! 
Hugh  Grant,  who  had  seen  naked  men  manipulate  great  pots 
of  molten  metal  at  frightful  risk  of  life  and  limb,  who  had  seen 
the  slender  protection  for  lives  in  the  deep  mines  beneath 
the  earth,  smiled  at  the  enthusiasm  of  the  round,  fat 
guardian. 

"Come  here!"  exclaimed  the  latter,  in  an  ecstasy  of  delight. 
"This  is  something  you  won't  find  in  any  other  bank  in  the 
world!" 

He  pointed  to  an  arrangement  of  small  pipes  that  ran  along 
the  piers  beneath  the  vault.  They  looked  like  the  pipes  of  a 
heating  system,  only  smaller  and  more  of  them.  The  fat 
man  touched  them  with  his  hand. 

"The  papers  said  it  was  superheated  steam,"  he  whispered, 
"but  it  ain't  that.  That's  no  good.  It's — "  his  voice  sank  to 
the  lowest  note — "it's  ammonia!  Ammonia  gas!  All  this  vault 
can  be  flooded  with  the  gas,  quick,  automatic.  Nobody  can 
live  in  it,  you  see.  Case  of  mob  —  or  anything  of  the  sort. 
And  it  doesn't  hurt  the  stuff  as  steam  might." 

All  this  fearful  planning,  this  contrivance,  for  protection 
against  possible  mob  violence! 


358  A  LIFE  FOR  A   LIFE 

"Where  does  it  come  from?"  stammered  Hugh,  aghast 
at  the  imagination  of  the  guardians  of  property. 

The  fat  man  closed  his  little  eyes  and  became  grave. 

"That's  a  secret!"  he  said.  " Nobody  knows,  but  it's  all 
there  for  an  emergency.  If  any  of  those  anarchists  think 
they'd  like  a  try — "  He  made  a  significant  gesture,  and  Hugh 
could  supply  the  rest,  —  the  suffocating  fumes  of  the  deadly 
gas  filtering  through  the  vaults.  At  last  within  the  inner  recess 
of  her  temple  Property  was  safe ! 

"Perfect,  isn't  it,  sir?  Everything  perfect — can't  be  beat 
for  protection,"  said  the  vault-keeper,  slipping  back  into  his 
seat  and  looking  more  than  ever  like  an  enormous  bird  of  prey. 
"Mr.  Venable?  Foreign  department,  on  the  top  floor." 

With  a  last  glance  into  the  glittering  strong  box  where  slept 
in  safety  the  securities  of  the  celebrated  power  company,  and 
many,  many  other  paper  vouchers  of  ownership,  Hugh  stepped 
into  the  private  elevator  and  was  shot  noiselessly  to  the  roof 
of  the  temple,  where  in  an  inner  chamber  was  housed  the  for 
eign  department  of  the  great  bank,  over  which  Venable  now 
presided. 

"  I  wandered  in,"  Hugh  explained,  "as  I  was  passing,  and  the 
wonders  of  your  temple  have  made  me  waste  time  that  should 
have  been  spent  on  more  urgent  business." 

"It  is  a  marvel!"  Venable  agreed  with  a  laugh.  "The 
temple  of  Diana  at  Ephesus  dropped  in  snugly  among  the 
cliffs."  He  pointed  to  the  sheer  white  walls  of  the  rear  of  a 
lofty  building  that  shot  up  thirty  stories  into  the  sky,  com 
pletely  shielding  the  small  marble  coffer  of  the  Bank  of  the 
Republic.  "  It's  a  grand  ad.  Only  Oliver  would  have  thought 
of  it.  The  directors  were  against  spending  good  money  for 
show,  but  it  has  added  immensely  to  our  prestige  in  the  public 
eye." 

"And  now  Whiting  has  abandoned  his  monument?" 

"Yes,  for  a  time.    He  has  gone  to  a  higher  sphere  of  useful- 


INTO  THE  RANKS  359 

ness  where  he  can  still  practice  the  virtue  of  prudence  tempered 
by  judicious  self-interest.  He  will  make  a  great  Secretary 
of  the  Treasury." 

"Will  he  stop  there?"  Hugh  was  thinking  of  the  wedding 
that  had  taken  place  that  morning. 

"Who  knows?  ...  He  is  marrying  Arnold's  daughter  — 
an  alliance,  I  suppose,  is  the  proper  word  between  two  reign 
ing  families." 

"You  have  risen!" 

"Yes  —  in  the  reorganization  after  Oliver's  departure  — 
fourth  vice-president,  sir!" 

Venable's  lean  face  had  a  fine  smile,  as  if  he  found 
something  ironic  in  his  elevation.  "But  where  have  you 
been?  Some  one  said  you  were  still  out  in  the  mountains." 

Hugh  told  his  story  of  the  past  eventful  year,  concluding 
with  his  final  failure  in  tilting  against  the  blank  wall.  Venable 
listened,  his  keen  blue  eyes  averted,  that  inscrutable  smile 
upon  his  face.  The  other  side  of  the  story  he  had  doubtless 
heard  before. 

"So  you  just  quit!"  he  commented. 

"  Yes  —  it  amounts  to  that  and  little  more.  When  I 
finally  got  far  enough  up  in  the  machine  to  realize  what  it 
means  I  began  to  think,  but  I  was  slow  to  act.  For  my  eyes 
were  blinded  by  selfish  passions  —  a  personal  will." 

"Most  of  us  are  —  either  blind  or  tied  —  it  amounts  to 
the  same  thing,"  said  Venable,  softly.  And  in  the  pause 
between  the  men,  much  passed  that  could  not  be  put  into 
words.  "Do  you  know  why  I  never  got  on  —  until  now?" 
he  asked  finally.  "It  is  an  old  story,  and  the  telling  of  it 
hurts  no  one  now.  ...  It  was  years  ago  when  Oliver  and 
I  were  both  younger.  He  had  just  been  made  president,  and 
was  ambitious  to  make  good.  ...  I  came  between  him  and 
something  he  wanted  to  do  to  oblige  certain  powerful 
interests  —  something  not  prudent,  and,  as  things  go,  almost 


360  A  LIFE  FOR  A   LIFE 

criminal.  ...  I  was  in  his  way — I  remained  where  I  was, 
all  these  years,  —  until  now!" 

And  after  another  pause  he  added,  "  Perhaps  it  was  all 
for  the  best.  I've  not  been  tempted  to  do  certain  things  as 
I  might  have  been.  I  have  been  relieved  of  conscience 
struggles!"  He  grinned  humorously,  adding,  "I  suppose 
that  at  the  bottom  neither  of  us  has  the  proper  predatory 
instinct  to  play  the  game  successfully.  That's  what  it 
amounts  to!  ...  You  were  never  really  keen  after  the 
plunder  —  or  you  wouldn't  have  stopped  to  think  what  it 
meant." 

"Perhaps  not!  Men  with  good  appetites  usually  eat  when 
they  can  find  food.  But  I  had  the  greatest  temptation  man 
can  have  —  to  play  the  game,  to  play  the  game!"  he  repeated 
softly,  thinking  of  her  who  was  the  bride  of  another  this  day. 

"But  you  couldn't  —  you  quit!" 

Hugh  Grant  made  a  gesture  with  his  hands. 

"The  light  came  at  last!  I  saw  the  whole,  like  a  flash  in 
the  dark.  I  saw  the  web  we  are  all  spinning,  you  and  I, 
Arnold  and  Whiting  at  the  top  of  it  tying  the  threads,  the 
stouter  strands  that  reach  down,  down  to  the  woman  on  the 
street  and  the  miner  in  his  hole." 

"Yet  even  they  must  spin  the  web,  as  you  and  I,"  the  other 
interposed.  "We  are  all  tied,  all  bound  in  one  with  another, 
in  the  scheme  of  things  as  they  are,  —  a  scheme  that  has  been 
growing  for  a  thousand  years  out  of  the  nature  of  men." 

"So  I  began  to  perceive  when  I  tried  to  make  out  the  in 
dictment.  My  ha.tred  somehow  evaporated  as  I  traced  back 
the  strands  of  the  web,  and  found  how  they  were  woven  out 
of  tradition  and  false  ideals  —  out  of  the  very  aspirations  of 
the  fathers  of  the  country  —  so  that  each  one  feels  justified 
to  himself  in  what  he  does  to  perpetuate  the  chain  of  evil. 
It  is  not  for  me  to  unravel  the  snarl.  ...  But,"  he  cried, 
"the  least  that  each  one  can  do  is  to  cut  the  circle  in  himself, 


INTO  THE  RANKS  361 

—  to  protest,  to  refuse  his  share  in  the  plunder  of  the  common 
game!" 

"So  you  quit/'  said  Venable  simply.  "But  now  what  will 
you  do?" 

"The  great  question!  .  .  .  Whatever  solution  there  is 
will  be  found  along  the  common  road,  piece  by  piece,  and  first 
of  all  — "  He  broke  off,  and  producing  a  small  coin  from  his 
pocket  laid  it  on  the  desk.  "As  that  is  my  entire  capital, 
the  first  step  in  this  great  solution  is  to  find  something  that 
will  feed  me  and  those  to  whom  I  am  bound." 

Venable  smilingly  picked  up  the  coin. 

"You  want  a  job?     You  must  enter  the  game  once  more. " 

"Yes,  but  by  another  gate  for  a  different  end." 

"Good!" 

"And  instead  of  moralizing  here  with  you  this  fine  after 
noon,  I  must  be  on  my  way  in  search  of  that  job!" 

Venable  thought  for  a  few  moments  and  then  suggested :  — 

"Why  not  begin  here  again?  As  you  face  life  it  is  all  one 
great  army,  and  it  matters  little  where  you  join  the  ranks." 
And  with  a  deepening  of  the  ironical  smile  on  his  lips,  "You 
don't  seem  to  me  rabid  enough  to  be  dangerous  —  even  to 
us!" 

"Have  you  anything  for  me?" 

"Always  room,"  said  Venable,  distorting  for  the  occasion 
one  of  Oliver's  favorite  maxims,  "at  the  bottom." 

"Then  into  the  ranks  —  here!"  the  other  replied  quietly. 


XL 

IN  THE  BANKS 

IN  Columbia  Heights  —  so  named  by  the  real  estate  pro 
moters  because  it  lay  in  a  flat  hollow  — that  one  of  the  inter 
minable  suburbs  of  the  great  City  where  the  Venables  lived, 
began  Hugh  Grant's  new  life.  One  day  a  family  moved  out  of 
one  of  those  wooden  boxes  that  were  planted  in  rectangular 
blocks,  and  another  moved  in,  —  part  of  that  perpetual  flux 
of  the  national  life  seeking  to  attain  desirable  environment. 

Nellie,  having  at  last  thus  partially  realized  the  dream  of 
many  feeble  years  by  removing  to  the  magnetic  centre  of  things, 
was  promptly  disillusioned.  For  the  daily  life  in  Columbia 
Heights  was  much  the  same  drab  sort  of  affair  that  it  had  been 
in  the  small  mill  town,  without  the  comforting  presence  of 
those  familiar  objects  to  which  she  had  become  more  attached, 
after  the  wont  of  human  animals,  than  she  suspected.  Eve, 
also,  the  first  glow  of  wonder  and  admiration  at  the  mighty 
machine  dulled,  found  little  profit  in  the  exchange  of  the  mill 
for  labor  in  a  dark  inner  office  of  the  City  cavern  whither 
Hugh  conducted  her  each  morning.  It  was  the  same  limit 
ing  groove  of  work,  at  which  her  desires  for  pleasure  fretted. 
So  for  a  time  the  women  persisted  in  the  illusion  that  Hugh's 
affairs  were  suffering  merely  a  temporary  eclipse,  and  with  the 
optimism  of  the  national  temperament  awaited  hopefully 
that  brilliant  fulfilment  of  ambition  which  we  are  taught  must 
reward  ability  and  persistence. 

"Father  always  said  Hugh  was  smarter  than  the  others," 
Nellie  would  repeat,  and  Eve,  the  pretty  girl  dreaming  of 
"chances,"  imagined  a  rosier  future,  if  not  through  him,  with 

362 


IN  THE  RANKS  363 

the  help  of  some  other  man.  Fortunately  their  lives  had 
been  so  restricted  thus  far  that  there  was  little  for  them  to 
picture  as  desirable.  But  the  provocations  of  the  streets 
supplied  ambitions.  Nellie,  with  the  woman's  quick  instinct 
for  social  values,  soon  discovered  a  more  desirable  quarter 
of  the  suburban  horizon  to  which  she  wished  the  household 
removed.  Gradually  the  quiet  will  of  the  man  prevailed, 
and  they  accepted  the  narrow  round  of  toil  and  the  few  pleas 
ures  which  Hugh  seemed  able  or  willing  to  provide  —  not 
without  the  secret  hope  that  somehow  the  gray  heavens  would 
miraculously  open  for  their  benefit  and  let  fall  one  of  its  gilded 
prizes. 

The  boy  Joe,  who  had  had  some  months  of  harsh  experi 
ence  in  the  struggle  by  himself,  accepted  the  situation  more 
gratefully.  He  was  glad  to  have  his  shelter,  and  he  admired 
the  uncle,  reviving  dim  memories  of  many  kindnesses  at  his 
hand.  Moreover,  he  found  the  City  exciting.  He  confidently 
expected  great  things,  —  to  become  president  of  the  railroad 
where  he  was  employed,  and  at  some  not  impossibly  remote 
date  to  ride  in  his  own  private  car,  ambitions  encouraged  by 
the  Gossom  literature  which  he  read.  He  worked  hard.  The 
crisis  came  when  his  growing  knowledge  of  the  City  and  his 
own  minute  place  in  it  betrayed  the  futility  of  his  dreams. 
Then  he  became  indifferent.  The  night  when  he  returned, 
drunk  and  surly,  Hugh  met  his  first  problem  in  discipline. 

"Oh,  what's  the  good  of  talking!"  the  boy  exclaimed  the 
next  morning,  in  ugly  mood.  "I'm  nobody,  anyway." 

How  to  eradicate  the  idea  that  it  was  necessary  to  be 
Somebody  in  the  Gossom  sense,  and  to  supply  the  idea  that  the 
lad  was  somebody  in  a  very  real  sense? 

Hugh  confessed  his  perplexity  to  Venable  that  evening :  — 

"The  trouble  is  to  supply  some  other  going  impulse  than 
ambition  —  the  raw  desire  to  get  ahead.  My  little  cosmos, 
like  all  the  world,  is  so  firmly  rooted  in  its  belief  in  the  ortho- 


364  A   LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

dox  values  of  life,  and  those  alone,  that  I  can  find  nothing 
vital  to  take  their  place.  Some  other  incentive !  Some  other 
interest,  than  merely  to  beat  the  game  and  get  things,  — 
that's  the  problem." 

He  was  thinking  of  Eve's  sharp  eyes  wistfully  examining 
the  jewellery  and  the  dress  of  the  women  on  the  train  as  she 
journeyed  to  and  from  the  City.  Manlike,  he  was  gentler 
to  her  than  to  the  boy,  and  wished  that  he  might  slip  some 
glittering  toy  into  her  eager  hand. 

"It  is  the  problem  I  have  been  wrestling  with  for  upwards 
of  twenty  years,"  Venable  replied.  "And  I  have  not  yet 
persuaded  my  wife  that  it  is  best  to  send  our  oldest  boy  to  a 
farm  to  earn  his  living.  She  sees  him  becoming  a  great 
financier  like  his  father!  The  women  are  the  hardest 
to  convince  that  the  fleshpots  aren't  worth  raiding.  They  have 
always  profited  when  the  killing  was  good;  so  they  argue 
that  an  able  hunter  must  bring  back  much  game." 

"Send  the  boy  to  me,"  said  the  Professor,  who  had  been 
listening  to  the  discussion.  "I  may  be  able  to  find  the  right 
thing  for  him." 

So  Joe  went  to  see  the  Professor,  who  loved  youth,  and  in 
time  through  him  the  boy  found  for  himself  that  other  stimu 
lus.  He  became  interested  in  mechanics,  having  his  share  of 
the  scientific  imagination  of  his  generation.  Once  caught  in 
the  meshes  of  this  mystery,  he  was  led  on  naturally,  step  by 
step,  to  that  real  labor  which  absorbed  him  irrespective  of  its 
"chances." 

"It  is  a  miracle!"  Hugh  said  to  the  Professor,  admiringly. 
"The  boy  has  begun  to  live." 

"I  have  always  held,"  replied  the  Professor  with  a  little 
smile,  "in  contradistinction  to  my  honored  chief,  Butterfield, 
that  the  purpose  of  education  is  to  teach  men  how  to  live, 
not  how  to  get  a  living.  .  .  .  With  boys  it  is  easy  enough, 
but  with  girls  —  that  is  another  matter!" 


IN  THE  RANKS  365 

Nevertheless,  the  girl's  life  was  taking  its  course.  Hugh  and 
Eve,  companions  on  the  daily  journey  to  the  City,  became 
friendly  mates.  Nature  was  pushing  her  rapidly  to  full 
womanhood,  with  its  unconscious  purposes.  As  the  man  noted 
her  advancing  bloom,  he  felt  the  potential  tragedy  where 
women  are  forced  into  the  industrial  army.  Eve  was  meant 
for  other  ends!  Nellie,  to  be  sure,  did  not  wish  her  daughter 
to  marry.  "I  know  what  men  are,"  she  would  say,  implying 
wisdom  gained  from  marital  misery.  "And  unless  Eve  can 
make  a  good  marriage  with  plenty  of  money,  she  had  better 
stay  as  she  is."  But  Hugh  desired  for  the  girl  the  appearance 
of  the  inevitable  male,  and  he  smiled  when  he  saw  Jack  Ven- 
able  come  up  the  walk  to  the  house.  The  dumb  youth  and 
the  teasing  girl — they  would  settle  their  universe. 

"Why  don't  you  get  married?"  Eve  asked  Hugh  one  of 
these  days. 

"Because  I  have  my  family,"  he  said  lightly. 

"But  one's  own!"  the  girl  insisted.  "You  have  to  have 
something  of  your  own  to  live  for. " 

A  true  word  from  a  woman's  heart!  There  was  little 
indeed  of  "his  own"  in  this  life  that  he  had  willed  and  was 
creating  about  him:  food  and  clothes  and  shelter,  a  routine 
task  exactly  performed,  a  few  hours  for  rest  and  human 
friendship.  Then  again,  the  same  routine  repeated,  day  after 
day,  season  by  season. 

To  live  his  own  life  according  to  that  inner  light,  which 
burned  now  dim,  now  bright,  was  one  thing;  but  to  impose 
that  light  upon  others  was  a  more  doubtful  matter,  —  espe 
cially  when  in  these  days  of  costly  living  there  was  little  of 
comfort  or  pleasure  that  could  be  obtained.  Nellie  and  Eve 
would  much  prefer  the  luxury  of  his  worldly  success  to  any 
personal  sacrifice  that  he  might  make  for  them.  What  they 
needed,  he  sometimes  thought,  was  that  richer  life  they  craved, 
—  friends,  enjoyments,  luxuries,  a  sense  of  importance  in  the 


366  A  LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

competitive  game  —  all  of  which  he  could  have  tossed  them 
in  a  liberal  cheque  drawn  upon  the  common  currency.  His 
life  they  neither  wanted  nor  understood. 

Such  moments,  the  light  dimmed  as  it  must.  He  saw 
ahead  merely  long  years  of  repeated  motions,  while  the  springs 
of  action  dulled  within.  Then  he  looked  out  upon  the  earth 
and  took  hope  once  more.  The  light  burned  again.  Even  hero 
ism  in  an  egoistic  race  of  individualists  has  suffered  the  taint 
of  melodrama.  The  heroic  is  the  strong  man  fighting  against 
odds  under  excitement,  the  shipwreck  and  the  disaster;  not 
the  steady  resistance  to  the  petty  and  the  sordid  and  the 
selfish!  To  return  from  the  mechanic  task  to  the  unlovely 
wooden  box,  day  after  day,  what  sustaining  enthusiasm  lies 
there?  It  is  easier  to  meet  the  whirlwind  and  the  storm.  .  .  . 

One  night,  not  long  after  they  had  come  to  Columbia 
Heights  to  live,  he  overtook  a  slight  woman  dressed  in  black 
trudging  through  the  spring  slop  of  the  street.  Something 
familiar  in  the  carriage  of  the  head  arrested  him,  and  he  turned 
to  look  at  her.  It  was  the  organist's  wife.  Under  her  arm 
she  carried  a  bundle,  —  the  morrow's  work. 

"  So  you  have  come  back  to  Columbia  Heights?  "  she  said 
to  him  in  greeting.  "I  never  expected  that." 

She  smiled  in  question,  a  slightly  mocking  smile. 

"For  we  of  Columbia  Heights,"  she  continued,  "are  on  the 
verge:  we  are  neither  outcasts  nor  successes.  We  live  and 
pray  the  Lord's  prayer." 

"The  silent  multitude!" 

"Yes,  the  silent  multitude." 

He  walked  on  with  her  to  the  apartment  building  where  she 
and  her  husband  now  lived.  After  a  moment's  hesitation 
she  asked  him  in,  and  Hugh  entered  with  her  the  tiny  room  in  a 
dark  angle  of  the  building. .  A  sick  man  raised  his  head  from 
the  lounge,  and  a  small  child  got  up  from  the  floor.  The 
woman,  with  a  slight  gesture,  as  if  to  say,  "Behold!"  put  down 


IN  THE  RANKS  367 

her  wraps  and  bundle  and  helped  the  organist  into  the  inner 
room.     Presently  she  appeared  and  took  the  child  in  her  lap. 

"I've  adopted  her,"  she  said.  "We  had  to  have  some  liv 
ing  thing  about  the  place,  you  see,  and  what  I  took  Mary 
from  was  worse  than  anything  here." 

"Your  husband  is  ill?" 

She  nodded  her  head. 

"He  plays  no  more." 

So  the  battle  of  this  spirit  that  soared  aloft  in  the  plangent 
harmonies  of  his  great  instrument  was  stilled,  and  the  last 
hope  of  the  woman  who  had  listened  to  the  conflict  and  gloried 
in  the  spirit  expressed  in  his  music  had  been  taken  from  her. 
She  and  he  had  fought  the  fight  of  his  feeble  will,  and  he  had 
been  conquered.  But  she  was  unconquered!  In  spite  of  the 
rebellious  mockery  of  her  trembling  lips,  the  irony  of  her  smile, 
she  was  unconquered,  with  faith.  She  was  older,  worn,  no 
longer  with  that  fine  air  of  privileged  breeding.  Hugh  re 
membered  his  former  admiration  for  the  woman,  —  how  she 
had  seemed  to  him  "enshrined  and  sainted,"  and  he  smiled. 

"Well,"  she  demanded,  "you  have  had  the  great  experi 
ence  —  what  have  you  made  of  it?" 

"Nothing,"  the  man  admitted. 

"Ah,"  she  mocked  gently,  "so  it  is  true,  indeed,  that  you 
have  joined  us!" 

Her  eye  fell  upon  the  shabby  room,  the  dingy  window. 
Hugh  saw  in  her  fragile  body  all  the  passion,  the  warmth  and 
abandon  with  which  she  had  been  gifted,  that  she  had  poured 
out  in  vain  upon  the  broken  organist,  and  he  saw  that  she 
still  rebelled. 

"Mrs.  Venable  tells  me  that  you  have  acquired  a  family  — 
I  shall  come  to  see  you.  Here  in  Columbia  Heights  there  is  a 
social  solidarity  lacking  in  more  privileged  societies.  We  are 
all  hanging  on  by  the  same  strap!"  .  .  . 

The  echoing  noises,  the  dead  odors  of  the  big  building  where 


368  A  LIFE   FOR  A  LIFE 

too  many  lives  were  housed,  struck  upon  his  senses  and  made 
the  sloppy  street  a  relief.  Yet  the  picture  of  the  worn  woman 
with  her  brave  smile  was  a  light  in  the  dark.  Human  courage 
and  human  dignity  throve  in  any  corner.  She  had  turned 
to  the  child — the  hope  for  another — instinctively,  as  he  was 
turning  more  and  more  in  thought  and  purpose  to  his  children. 
For  with  them  lay  the  future;  they  were  flexible,  to  be  made 
in  a  new  image. 

And  slowly,  imperceptibly,  like  the  changing  seasons,  as 
time  sped,  came  that  change  which  the  man  desired  in  the 
lives  about  him.  Slowly,  imperceptibly,  without  the  whirl 
wind  or  the  storm,  the  cycle  of  evil  will  in  these  beings  was 
being  broken,  new  impulses  taking  the  place  of  old.  The  boy 
had  become  immersed  in  an  absorbing  interest;  the  girl  was 
beginning  unconsciously  to  weave  her  web;  even  Nellie  was 
slowly  achieving  content.  Thanks  to  the  Venables,  the  Pro 
fessor,  the  organist's  wife,  a  family  at  the  corner  and  another 
on  the  next  block,  the  household  was  drawn  into  simple 
human  ties.  The  drab  streets  of  Columbia  Heights  became 
thick  with  interwoven  strands  of  friendly  meeting.  Life,  it 
seemed,  was  like  some  silent  place  in  the  forest,  carpeted  with 
the  weaving  tendrils  of  a  common  vine,  and  thus  made  warm 
and  soft  for  the  feet  of  the  wayfarer. 

"To  grow  somewhere,  that  is  the  most  important  fact,  it 
matters  little  where,"  Venable  observed. 

Hugh,  returning  after  a  two  days'  absence,  found  an  unfamil 
iar  face  in  the  house. 

"You  remember  my  husband,  don't  you,  Hugh?"  Nellie 
said  quietly.  "He's  come  home." 

The  man,  gray-bearded,  with  the  marks  of  purposeless 
wandering  upon  him,  rose  shamefacedly  and  held  out  an 
uncertain  hand. 

"I'm  glad  of  that,"  Hugh  said. 


IN  THE  RANKS  369 

"Nellie  tells  me  you've  been  good  to  her  and  the  children," 
the  man  began  stammeringly,  with  an  effort  of  apology. 

"We  have  all  lived,"  Hugh  replied,  and  there  was  no 
further  mention  of  his  truant  years.  They  sat  down  to  their 
meal;  the  children,  who  had  already  seen  their  father,  came  in; 
and  the  little  life  of  the  household  closed  around  the  derelict 
without  a  word.  Joe  and  Eve,  so  Hugh  divined,  realized  that 
something  must  be  made  of  this  parent,  and  Nellie  found  an 
unexpected  dignity  in  herself  to  cope  with  the  emergency 
that  she  had  brought  about.  She  abstained  from  reproach 
or  complaint,  thus  testifying  to  an  inner  conviction  that  she 
had  been  also  at  fault  in  the  wreck  of  their  small  venture. 
"Can  you  find  something  for  him  to  do?"  she  asked  Hugh, 
assuming  that  the  newcomer  must  remain  with  them. 

"It  can  be  found  in  time,"  Hugh  promised.  "And  you 
must  keep  him  at  it,  you  understand  ?  " 

She  nodded,  a  new  decision  on  her  flabby  lips. 

Thus  slowly  the  face  of  Hugh  Grant's  little  world  was 
changing,  and  his  part  in  the  new  life  he  had  begun  was  com 
ing  to  an  end.  Already  young  Venable  had  gone  away  into  a 
new  land  to  get  his  home,  and  Eve  was  waiting  her  day,  no 
longer  restless.  The  boy  had  found  his  absorbing  work  in  a 
large  manufacturing  establishment.  Nellie  had  her  husband 
to  protect.  Slowly  the  atmosphere  within  the  household  at 
Columbia  Heights  had  changed,  and  slowly  the  color  of  life 
within  the  man  himself  was  changing. 

For  now  he  was  becoming  ripe. 


2u 


XLI 

THE   SOMETHING   FOR  SELF 

IN  the  being  of  this  shabby  middle-aged  clerk,  one  of  that 
innumerable  army  passing  daily  through  the  narrow  streets 
of  the  City  to  his  task  in  the  marble  temple,  there  came  few 
vital  moments. 

Day  after  day  he  followed  the  same  road,  a  unit  in  the 
large  stream  of  life,  jostling  with  the  thousands  on  the  way, 
climbed  the  stairs  to  his  desk,  turned  the  pages  of  his  task, 
and  at  night  returned  wearily  to  his  corner.  An  inconspicu 
ous  clerk,  his  eyes  growing  dim  behind  his  glasses, 
his  muscles  becoming  rigid  in  the  worn  groove,  he 
was  becoming  imperceptibly  other  than  the  man 
who  had  entered  the  ranks  after  failure.  His  world 
swung  into  being  each  morning,  and  was  hushed  again 
at  night,  but  with  the  daily  reverberation  of  life  a  different 
note  was  struck  in  him.  The  will  having  been  fixed,  decision 
made,  all  the  petty  detail  of  his  life  had  followed  irrevocably, 
ordering  itself  in  an  inevitable  sequence,  open  avenues  closing 
to  leave  but  the  one  ahead, — so  that  life  itself  became  wholly 
objective  with  manhood:  it  was  a  vast  panorama  into  which 
his  own  hot  experience  was  fast  sinking  from  sight.  This  world 
of  the  toiler  with  its  surface  of  marble  and  brick  and  steel, 
the  millions  at  struggle  in  it,  was  flowing  past  like  a  broad, 
rushing  river,  carrying  him  in  its  tide.  And  as  the  conscious 
self  in  it  —  his  own  little  fate  —  became  unimportant  to  him, 
the  panorama  itself  grew  large  and  vivid.  Pausing  for  the 
moment  at  his  task  and  gazing  into  the  misty  cavern  of  the 


THE  SOMETHING  FOR  SELF  371 

City  street,  with  its  vaporous  atmosphere  of  gray  and  gold, 
in  which  hung  the  tall  buildings,  he  had  a  sense  of  being  merged 
in  a  life  far  mightier  than  his  own.  At  such  times  the  voice  of 
demand  made  upon  him  brought  him  back  to  earth  as  from 
a  trance. 

On  this  flood  of  life  was  borne  the  brilliant  and  the  muddy. 
It  was  vocal  with  sharp  cries  and  vivid  deeds.  There  was 
Ravi  heralded  one  day  for  gobbling  another  railroad :  Hugh 
read  about  it  in  the  newspaper;  the  clerk  next  him  talked  of  it. 
And  Oliver  Whiting,  after  a  brilliant  career  in  the  Cabinet  of 
Prosperity,  where  he  had  done  nothing  with  eminent 
satisfaction  to  his  associates,  had  obtained  an  important 
diplomatic  post,  and  now  was  about  to  return  to 
the  City  to  resume  those  social  and  benevolent  activities 
in  which  his  being  moved.  Arnold  had  given  his  museum  to 
the  public,  and  was  reported  to  have  gone  abroad  in  search  of 
new  treasures  to  put  within  it.  There  were  "wars  and  rumors 
of  wars,"  abounding  prosperity  and  terrible  want  —  discon 
tent  and  complacent  optimism.  Gossom's  lamping  signal 
still  shone  nightly  over  the  City,  spreading  its  message  of  evil. 
Men  and  women  with  covetous  eyes  dragged  themselves  up  and 
down  the  glittering  avenues,  feeding  their  desires.  And  the 
silent  multitude  lived  and  toiled  and  died,  performing  unknown 
heroism  and  unknown  baseness.  The  stream  flowed  on.  .  .  . 

"This,"  said  Venable  one  night,  as  he  and  Hugh  were'crossing 
the  great  marble  rotunda  of  the  Bank,  "is  the  very  centre  of 
modern  life  —  its  epitome  and  image!" 

The  light  was  fading  from  the  pale  marble ;  voices  and 
sounds  came  distantly  across  the  floor  ;  the  hush  of  the  temple 
precinct  was  descending. 

"Property!  The  temple  of  Property!"  Hugh  exclaimed 
involuntarily. 

Outside  in  the  raw  night  the  huge  buildings  gleamed, 
tier  on  tier.  The  streets  were  at  ebb  tide,  the  stream  running 


372  A  LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

homewards  fast.  The  thought  struck  a  vital  spark  in  Hugh's 
mind.  Property!  That  was  the  theme  under  which  all  the 
phenomena  of  this  living  stream  ranged  themselves,  the  key  to 
the  whole  panorama.  A  purpose  that  had  unconsciously 
formed  within  him  now  began  to  push  to  the  fore.  All  his 
active  life  he  had  dealt  in  the  forms  of  property,  touched  it, 
,  been  moulded  by  it,  created  it,  renounced  it.  All  that  he  had 
seen  and  felt  since  he  entered  the  City,  a  youth,  was  concerned 
with  this  one  term,  —  Property.  At  first  vaguely,  uncertainly, 
his  mind  hovered  about  its  theme,  bringing  material,  facts, 
theories,  reading,  observation,  emotion,  and  then  the  desire 
to  express  in  some  manner  his  message  took  hold  of  him. 
Property  became  his  theme! 

These  days  he  was  living  once  more  in  his  old  quarters, 
drawn  thither  by  the  mighty  magnet  of  the  City's  voluminous 
life.  Here  during  the  hours  of  night  he  was  free  to  think  and 
work.  That  interest  which  he  had  first  felt  in  telling  the  story 
of  the  power  company  seized  him  again,  in  a  larger  impulse 
to  put  in  concrete  form  this  great  theme.  Like  a  flame  the 
desire  for  expression  shot  up, — the  will  that  was  somehow  both 
self  and  impersonal.  Defeated,  crowded  aside,  restrained  by 
necessity,  he  had  thought  that  the  self  was  wholly  dead, 
merged  in  the  great  general  panorama  of  things,  the  stream 
of  outer  life.  But  no !  The  fire  was  still  hot  within,  the  eter 
nal  will  to  express  somehow,  in  some  manner,  the  spirit  that 
was  specially  his,  moulded  of  his  effort  and  his  will.  Here 
was  that  something  for  self  which  would  not  be  denied.  It  was 
the  flame  of  the  artist,  the  poet,  the  lover,  —  purified,  lambent, 
burning  bright  in  its  vessel.  .  .  . 

Thus  in  the  silence  of  night  hours,  with  the  City  voice  coming 
upward  like  a  faint  surge  of  the  sea,  the  eye  of  the  Symbol 
upon  him,  he  sat  with  bent  head,  seeing,  writing,  at  work  in  a 
fever  of  will  let  loose,  exultant.  The  germ  of  creation  hidden 
in  all  men  strove  for  its  life  in  him.  He  was  free  to  embrace  it, 


THE  SOMETHING  FOR  SELF  373 

to  give  it  sweep  through  his  being,  at  last !  So,  caught  in  his 
theme,  which  beat  with  epic  force  upon  him,  he  spent  his 
strength,  all  the  vital  force  in  him,  in  this  effort  for  final  ex 
pression.  It  was  the  guerdon  of  God  to  him  who  had  sought 
the  truth  and  embraced  it,  this  bit  of  precious  work,  this  self 
to  be  made  evident. 

And  what  a  theme !  The  bland  eye  of  the  Symbol  seemed 
to  connive  with  his  daring,  then  mocked  him.  It  began 
in  the  dim,  remote  origins  of  things,  when  Property  was  the 
garment  for  man's  spirit,  the  covering  for  his  nakedness,  the 
sign  of  his  manhood.  Then  onwards  through  ages  of  con 
flict  and  wild  war,  with  emerging  laws  and  bonds,  Property 
held  sway  uncertainly,  until  at  last  in  the  clamorous  present 
it  had  become  the  worshipped  idol,  the  engine  and  the  end 
of  human  life,  before  which  the  multitude  bowed  down  in 
desire  and  fear.  And  the  spirit  of  life  lay  strangled  within  the 
garment.  The  idol  had  become  stronger  than  its  maker. 
Manifold  and  cunning  laws  were  devised  to  protect  this  idol. 
Life  became  cheap,  —  so  many  dollars  for  limb  or  eye  or  body, 
—  but  Property  became  more  precious,  guarded  by  the  sanc 
tity  of  Law.  Ten  laws  were  enacted  on  behalf  of  Property 
for  one  of  other  laws.  A  trained  body  of  the  best  minds  was 
employed  by  the  owners  of  property  to  defend  their  rights 
against  all  other  rights.  Justice,  Mercy,  Love  became  weak 
before  the  sacred  idol.  Nay,  heaven  had  become  confused 
with  earth  in  the  worship  of  Property,  and  its  golden  halls 
were  moved  from  the  sky.  The  garment  was  all :  the  spirit 
had  faded  from  within! 

In  this  vast  virgin  land  where  the  winds  swept  free  over 
plains  and  hills  from  ocean  to  ocean,  a  new  people  had  come 
to  live  in  the  highest  freedom  to  work  their  wills,  in  their  hearts 
a  dream  of  noble  perfection,  and  the  idol  set  up  in  their  midst 
even  here  had  eaten  their  freedom.  Men  had  proved  that  the 
desire  of  their  hearts  being  free  was  to  get  Property:  "life, 


374  A  LIFE  FOR  A   LIFE 

liberty,  and  the  pursuit  of  happiness"  meant  Property,  got 
and  hoarded.  They  had  coined  the  snows  upon  the  hills  into 
property;  the  waving  trees  in  the  forest;  the  rivers  and  lakes, 
the  minerals  under  the  ground,  and  the  fruit  of  the  seed  above 
—  all  was  Property,  something  possessed  by  one  and  coveted 
by  another.  Until  the  day  was  now  dawning  when,  all 
property  being  parcelled  out  and  possessed,  the  struggle  to 
get  waxed  hot;  men  fought  among  themselves  like  dogs 
about  a  bone,  in  their  hunger  for  Property.  The  strong  pre 
vailed,  and  the  children  of  the  strong  ate,  while  the  weak 
hungered  and  the  children  of  the  weak  died  unpossessed.  The 
cunning  contrivance  of  law  fastened  the  chains  of  Property 
upon  its  slaves,  not  for  a  term  of  years,  but  for  generation  after 
generation.  Children  that  had  not  yet  entered  the  womb  in 
the  vast  abyss  of  uncreated  purpose  were  destined  to  hunger, 
and  others  were  destined  to  possess.  It  was  a  life  for  a  life, 
not  merely  among  the  living  and  the  dead,  but  among  the  yet 
unborn.  And  men  said  this  was  good,  lying  in  their 
hearts.  .  .  . 

As  he  thought  and  worked,  his  theme  grew  in  magnitude 
until  it  absorbed  all.  It  flamed  in  pictures  in  his  mind, 
unrolled  itself  in  long  lines  of  figures,  descended  into  the 
homes  of  the  little  in  the  byways  and  ascended  to  the  temples 
and  institutions  of  the  world.  It  swept  from  ocean  to  ocean 
and  circled  the  globe  on  thin  wires.  It  spoke  in  mockery 
and  fine  irony  in  the  mouths  of  President  Butterfield  and 
Thomas  Talbot;  it  hissed  in  hate  in  the  mouth  of  the  Anarch. 
Like  a  colossus  of  silent  will  it  acted  in  Alexander  Arnold. 
When  Property  and  the  ideas  of  Property  were  stripped  from 
men,  what  remained?  .  .  . 

Fatigued  with  his  task,  he  would  take  it  with  him  into  the 
streets  of  the  City  at  night,  wandering  up  and  down  the  long, 
empty  avenues,  shining  in  streams  of  light  —  blinking  guar 
dians  of  Property  —  back  and  forth  through  dark  cross  streets 


THE  SOMETHING  FOR  SELF  375 

from  the  hills  to  the  water,  in  and  out  among  the  towering  bulk 
of  great  buildings  in  the  heart  of  the  City.  The  earth  itself 
was  covered  with  a  close  garment  of  Property,  each  thread  in 
the  web  with  its  special  privilege,  its  special  burden.  The 
City  was  one  vast  mound  of  Property,  heaped  upon  the  earth. 
He  passed  the  great  Bank  of  the  Republic,  shuttered  and 
closed,  guarding  in  its  vaults  innumerable  titles  to  property. 
There  beneath  the  ground,  in  steel-ribbed  vaults,  Property  lay 
in  its  last  fine  essence.  Hired  guards  patrolled  above  and 
below  its  hidden  shrine.  A  thick,  round  door  of  massive  steel, 
beside  which  sat  all  day  the  fat  guardian  of  treasure,  was  closed 
and  bolted  with  an  ingenious  care.  And  the  secret  pipes  for 
deadly  gas  coiled  in  and  out  of  the  inner  shrine  of  the  sanctuary 
to  kill  any  who  might  disturb  its  hoard.  The  bronze  gates  of 
the  great  bank  were  barred,  the  doors  closed.  In  the  night 
its  white  facade  had  something  cold  and  menacing  about  it, 
spurning  the  stranger,  the  beggarly  wayfarer  who  rested  on  its 
steps.  And  yet  in  its  cold  aloofness,  all  shut  and  barred, 
crouched  among  a  group  of  tall  buildings,  cowering  there  over 
its  laden  vaults,  the  Bank  of  the  Republic  suggested  above 
all  FEAR.  That  was  the  terrible  secret  of  Property  —  it  bred 
Fear !  Guarded  by  steel  and  stone  and  deadly  engine,  Property 
was  afraid!  Far  below  the  pavement  the  living  guardian 
patrolled  the  hole  beneath  and  above  the  steel  vault,  and 
reported  duly  by  electric  signal  his  constant  presence. 
Within  the  shrine  slept  the  bits  of  bright  coin,  the  bundles  of 
stamped  paper,  the  strips  of  bond  and  stock,  —  symbols  of 
Property.  And  these  more  precious  than  life  itself,  than  the 
lives  of  the  sleeping  millions,  were  close  watched,  triple 
guarded  even  in  sleep.  For  Property  made  cowards  of  men. 
That  was  the  last  word! 

Returning  in  the  gray  dawn  from  such  a  pilgrimage  through 
the  City,  Hugh  Grant  found  the  Anarch,  Wethered,  in  the 


376  A  LIFE  FOR  A  ^LIFE 

attic  chamber,  sitting  astride  the  table,  the  sheets  of  his 
writing  in  hand,  reading  with  a  sneer  on  his  lean  face. 

"So  you  have  taken  to  scribbling,"  he  observed.  "  You  pay 
your  respects  to  the  sacred  institution,  I  see—  "  He  read 
phrases  from  the  manuscript  in  his  hand.  "  You  do  not  seem 
to  agree  with  our  friend  Gossom."  He  nodded  to  the  burning 
Symbol.  "This  is  what  the  weak-minded  always  have  done, 
—  scribbled  in  verse  and  prose  their  protest  to  their  masters ! 
What  do  they  care?  They  will  buy  your  stuff  if  it  is  amusing, 
and  put  it  away  in  their  libraries  for  a  curiosity!" 

"I  write  for  myself!"  Hugh  rejoined  quickly. 

"For  yourself!  What  are  you  f  What  is  any  one,  alone?  " 
He  dropped  the  papers,  and  beating  the  table  with 
his  clenched  fist  demanded  savagely,  "Why  don't  you 
do  something?  Do  something,  I  say!  instead  of  sitting 
here  spilling  ink  upon  paper  to  record  your  precious  thoughts. 
Even  they  would  despise  that,  —  whining  in  idealistic  phrases 
instead  of  putting  your  fist  into  the  game!  Either  take  the 
world  and  eat  as  others  do,  or  take  it  by  the  throat." 

"I  have  done  something,"  the  other  replied  quietly. 

"What?" 

"I  have  lived." 

The  Anarch  waved  his  hand  derisively. 

"Live  —  do  you  call  it  living?" 

"I  earn  my  living  daily  at  the  Bank  of  the  Republic." 

The  Anarch  laughed  loudly. 

"Back  to  the  bench?  Starved  out!  And  is  that  all  you 
have  got  from  the  welter  of  experience  —  to  take  the  daily  bit 
of  bread  for  the  daily  work?  Even  your  masters  might  teach 
you  a  better  lesson.  They  at  least  are  effective :  they  count." 

"And  I  count,  too!  .  .  .     But  what  have  you  done?" 

"I,"  said  the  Anarch,  grimly,  "have  been  in  prison  for  the 
last  six  months.  Interfering  with  the  hand  of  law,  which  was 
somewhat  bloodily  beating  its  precepts  into  an  offender.  It  is 


THE  SOMETHING  FOR  SELF  377 

a  fearful  crime  to  raise  your  hand  against  the  servant  of 
the  law,  especially  when  that  servant  is  doing  his  duty  for  his 
masters!  .  .  .  There  were  a  number  of  murderers  in 
jail  with  me,  but  as  they  had  not  sinned  against  Property, 
they  will  soon  be  free." 

" You  have  been  in  prison  —  is  that  effective?" 

"Yes,  by  God!"  the  Anarch  affirmed  fiercely.  "Tis 
about  the  most  one  can  do  now  —  to  show  men  what  life 
means  in  a  '  free  country. '  I  was  locked  up  because  I 
tried  to  save  a  man  from  being  beaten  after  his  bread  had 
been  taken  out  of  his  mouth.  It  teaches  a  lesson  to  those 
who  can  understand.  Shows  what  law  is  —  what  it  is  made 
to  do.  ...  There  is  more  work  coming,  and  that  soon. 
Instead  of  sitting  up  here  by  yourself  scribbling  your  silly 
thoughts,  join  us,  share  the  labor  and  the  risk,  —  do  some 
thing  for  mankind!" 

"What?" 

The  Anarch  seated  himself  and  began  in  a  more  philo 
sophical  vein. 

"Did  it  ever  occur  to  you,  my  dear  little  bank  clerk,  in 
your  prosperous  days,  when  you  sat  at  the  tables  of  the 
rich  and  were  a  good  citizen  according  to  the  code,  what  it 
would  mean  if  a  fair  proportion  —  far  less  than  half  —  of  the 
people  in  this  country  should  agree  to  abstain  from  buying  any 
thing  but  the  raw  necessities  to  keep  life  in  the  body  —  say  for 
six  months?  For  six  short  months !  This  thing  we  call  civili 
zation  would  crumble  like  rotten  cheese.  The  whole  concern 
would  have  to  suspend!" 

"And  do  you  expect  to  induce  a  fair  proportion  of  good 
citizens  to  starve  themelves  for  half  a  year  for  the  sake  of  teach 
ing  your  lesson?" 

The  Anarch  smiled. 

"As  yet  our  people  are  too  corrupt!  Their  masters  have 
bought  them  off  too  often  by  filling  their  bellies.  Wages  are 


378  A  LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

forced  upward,  and  every  simpleton  has  the  promise  of  selfish 
betterment  dangled  before  him — the  wisp  of  hay  before  the 
Ass.  .  .  .  But  in  this  method  of  the  masters  there  must 
come  a  crack  —  it  is  coming!" 

"At  this  time  of  prosperity?" 

"And  high  prices.  What  does  prosperity  mean  to  the  man 
who  buys?  The  cattle  have  been  too  well  fed:  they  will 
expect  always  the  same  good  food.  The  crack  must  come. 
Watch !  You  will  see  a  skirmish  here  and  there,  even  now  in 
these  piping  days  of  peace  and  prosperity,  —  demands  for 
more  — " 

"They  will  be  bought  off  again!" 

"Ah,  there  is  where  the  crack  begins.  With  the  top-heavy 
vessel  that  the  Plunderers  are  navigating,  an  end  must  come 
to  that  game  some  day — soon .  Already  trouble  is  appearing  ; 
like  little  boils  it  is  breaking  out,  here  and  there,  a  quarrel  over 
the  living  wage.  It  will  spread  and  spread  until  it  covers  the 
whole  country  with  a  mass  of  sores.  First  a  railroad,  then  a 
mill  or  a  factory,  will  be  shut,  until  the  machine  is  out  of 
commission.  Then  we  shall  try  conclusions." 

"Meanwhile  you  will  hasten  the  good  time  by  breaking 
the  law?" 

"The  law!"  The  Anarch  kicked  a  book  into  the  corner. 
"When  it  comes  to  the  real  thing,  there  won't  be  much  law." 

"Instead,  dynamite — " 

"Dynamite  or  the  sheriff's  pistol  —  what  is  the  difference? 
Force  and  cunning  are  the  common  weapons,  —  the  only  two." 

"Never!" 

"Ask  Arnold!    Ask  Butterfield!    Ask  Oliver  Whiting!" 

"Neither  force  nor  cunning  —  they  give  no  solution." 

"My  dear  poet,"  the  Anarch  sneered,  "I  am  wasting  val 
uable  time  here  with  you.  My  business  is  with  men,  not 
cowards.  With  men  who  do  not  shrink  from  bloodshed,  who 
are  not  afraid  to  handle  dynamite  instead  of  phrases.  I  leave 


THE   SOMETHING   FOR  SELF  379 

you  to  your  mentor!"  He  waved  his  hand  mockingly  to  the 
Symbol. 

"And  do  you  think  me  a  success?" 

The  Anarch  surveyed  him  compassionately,  saying :  — 

"No,  I  should  say  that  you  had  failed  in  every  way  that  a  man 
could  fail.  So  I  will  leave  you  to  your  poetic  consolation  in 
this  my  old  haunt.  I  have  moved  on  to  other  quarters,  which 
are  more  spacious." 

He  laughed  ironically.  With  his  hand  upon  the  door,  he 
turned  and  said :  — 

"Do  you  remember  the  girl  Minna?  The  little  one  who 
had  her  hand  sewed  up  in  the  machine  down  there?  I  saw 
her  on  the  street  as  I  was  coming  here." 

"Minna?" 

"  Yes  —  Minna.  You  once  had  a  sentimental  interest  in 
her,  I  believe.  You  shuddered  when  I  painted  her  fate. 
Well,  she  has  achieved  it  at  last!  She  is  —  a  whore." 

"What!" 

"That  is  what  our  society  calls  a  woman  who  has  the  bad 
luck  to  be  forced  to  live  by  her  sex  without  the  law's  sanction. 
.  .  .  Oh,  it  began  some  time  ago.  I  suppose  you  were 
noble  enough  to  refrain  from  taking  your  pleasure.  Or  was  it 
that  you  were  merely  prudent?  But  our  friend  Ellgood 
helped  himself  to  Minna's  slender  charms.  They  had  a  little 
nest  somewhere  in  the  City,  and  heaven  went  on  until 
Ellgood  became  quite  successful  and  was  able  to  range 
himself  in  his  class  by  marriage.  Then  Minna,  who  had 
become  corrupted  by  her  taste  of  luxury,  took  the  only 
means  she  had  to  reproduce  heaven,  on  a  lower  scale." 

"Poor  little  Minna!" 

"Don't  sentimentalize  because  you  happen  to  remember 
tenderly  this  little  Minna.  She  is  no  longer  the  tender 
fresh  little  thing  your  poetic  fancy  remembers.  And 
hers  has  not  been  a  bad  case.  At  least  she  has  had  some 


380  A  LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

real  sensations  —  some  soft  hours  and  some  gay  ones, 
though  of  late  I  gather  she  has  rather  taken  to  drink  to 
keep  up  the  inspiration  of  life.  .  .  .  Look  for  her,  my 
poet,  and  study  the  universal  law  in  the  person  of  Minna, 
the  girl  with  the  maimed  hand.  It  is  all  there,  you'll  find. 
You  will  get  more  from  Minna  than  from  that  stuff." 

He  pointed  disdainfully  at  the  sheets  of  manuscript  upon 
the  table,  smiled,  and  departed. 

The  gray  dawn  had  fully  come.  The  lamp  of  Success  had 
gone  out.  The  City,  groaning  at  labor  below,  seemed  clouded 
in  ashes.  The  hot  and  acrid  breath  of  the  Anarch  had 
breathed  upon  his  inspiration  and  scorched  his  faith.  He 
prepared  to  go  to  the  Bank,  and  his  thought  turned  to  the 
woman  Minna,  wandering  somewhere  in  the  streets  of  the 
City.  .  .  . 

Even  that  something  of  self  in  which  he  had  taken  joy  — 
that  personal  and  inner  justification  of  the  man's  soul  within 
him  before  his  Maker  —  was  wrong.  As  he  threaded  his 
way  toward  the  marble  temple  of  Property,  his  eyes  kept 
looking  hither  and  thither  in  search  of  Minna. 


XLII 

THE   BACCHANAL 

"POWER"  was  booming  in  the  market. 

The  Anarch's  fierce  prophesy  yet  failed  of  its  fulfilment. 
A  year  of  triumphant  prosperity  drew  to  a  close  with  ever  ris 
ing  prices,  throbbing  industry,  tremendous  business  of  a  busy 
people.  The  promise  of  the  fathers,  the  destiny  of  the  nation, 
were  being  accomplished.  So  it  was  printed,  and  men  re 
peated  it  to  themselves  upon  the  streets.  The  wise  ones 
pointed  to  the  evidence  of  universal  well-being  in  ticker  strokes, 
clearing-house  sheets,  bank  balances,  crop  reports,  railroad 
earnings.  "See  what  happens  for  all  when  we  are  let  alone!" 
they  said.  "The  people  are  busy,  wages  are  high, 
money  is  pouring  from  the  soil.  ;Tis  a  great  country 
when  we  are  let  alone!"  Here  and  there  were  to  be 
heard  the  mutterings  of  discontent,  the  demands  of  greedy 
labor  to  share  in  the  increase,  like  the  distant  rumbling 
of  thunder  on  a  cloudless  summer  day.  Hospitals  and  refuges 
were  crowded ;  desolate  figures  emerged  on  the  gay  avenues 
from  side  streets,  — mere  competitive  refuse  of  ninety  millions, 
these!  And  the  lengthening  line  of  black  figures  tramping 
the  lofty  bridge  to  the  task  and  homeward  at  evening,  —  what 
had  they  to  say  of  these  happy,  prosperous  days?  What  the 
masters  gave  with  the  right  hand  they  took  away  with  the 
left. 

But  "Power"  was  booming,  —  "index  of  prosperity," 
solemnly  affirmed  Todd  in  the  Daily  Judgment.  The  lords 
of  destiny  were  carving  at  the  table,  dividing  the  fat  pelf, 

381 


382  A   LIFE  FOR  A   LIFE 

"  cutting  melons  "  (euphonious  term !)  according  to  their  wont. 
The  dizzy  figures  of  the  market  sheet  spelled  happiness.  Thus 
the  holidays  came  and  men  rejoiced,  each  in  his  way.  The 
New  Year  was  at  hand. 

The  New  Year,  —  oh,  beautiful  hope !  The  New  Year 
which  would  conspire  with  fate  the  trickster  to  bring  about  the 
secret  desire  of  every  heart.  And  the  eve  of  this  New  Year  the 
streets  were  full  of  people,  —  girls  from  the  sweat-shop  with 
their  young  men,  women  from  the  great  houses  in  their  cars, 
old  and  young,  poor  and  prosperous,  big  and  little,  flowing  in 
solid  masses  along  the  thoroughfares,  —  all  with  the  spirit  of 
hope  and  happiness  in  their  hearts.  The  old  year  was  gone. 
Good  or  ill,  it  was  lived  through  somehow,  with  its  laughter 
and  its  tears,  its  hunger  and  its  plenty,  its  failure  and  its 
success.  Hail  to  the  New  Year !  For  man  is  a  gambler  ever, 
praying  in  his  heart  to  the  goddess  to  give  him  the  unknown 
joy,  his  heart's  desire.  So  the  common  people  sang  and 
shouted  in  the  streets,  blew  noisy  horns,  pelted  each  other  with 
colored  paper,  made  merry  in  boisterous  ways  to  show  their 
faith  in  this  greatest  of  all  lives  and  in  this  best  of  all  years 
about  to  be.  And  those  who  had  shared  in  the  carving  of  the 
pelf  sat  about  hotel  tables  and  drank  yellow  wine  at  great 
price  in  honor  of  prosperity  and  another  glorious  New  Year. 

Hugh  was  returning  to  his  room  late  that  New  Year's 
eve,  alone  in  the  noisy  multitude.  He  was  weary  in  body, 
not  merely  from  the  fatigue  of  the  streets,  but  with  a  slow, 
dragging  weariness  that  had  recently  beset  him.  However, 
he  was  content,  absorbed  in  the  rejoicing  people,  sympa 
thizing  with  the  common  joy,  the  reckless  gayety  and 
hope  for  the  venture  of  the  New  Year.  There  was  a  sav 
age  light  upon  the  faces  of  the  men  pushing  their  way 
through  the  dense  crowd,  in  their  eyes  a  brute  will 
to  be  glad.  The  same  revelling  spirit  of  determined 
joy  shone  through  the  lighted  windows  and  open  doors 
of  the  hotels  and  restaurants.  In  the  glare  of  intense 


THE  BACCHANAL  383 

light  men  and  women  were  packed  close  about  the  tables, 
eating  and  drinking,  the  corridors  and  anterooms  filled  with 
the  supper-parties.  Waiters  squirmed  among  the  close-set 
tables,  bearing  above  their  heads  bottles  of  yellow  wine.  At 
the  corner  about  Lorillard's  fashionable  restaurant  the 
avenue  was  almost  impassable,  with  the  throngs  on  the 
pavement  awaiting  the  signal  of  the  New  Year. 

At  last  the  boom  of  a  distant  gun,  then  the  clang  of  innu 
merable  bells !  The  air  became  at  once  full  of  confused  sound, 

—  horns  and  whistles  vying  with  the  deeper  tones  of  bells, 
filling  the  mild  heavens  with  a  high-pitched  noise  of  jubila 
tion.    Boom!  Toot!  Clang!    The  New  Year  had  come.     Up 
and  down  the  gamut  of  sound  the  air  vibrated  with  discordant 
joy.     It  was  one  universal  will  to  be  glad,  to  hope,  shrieking 
in  myriad  tones. 

Hail  to  the  New  Year!  The  wonderful,  mysterious,  good 
New  Year!  As  the  bells  frantically  clanged  and  the  noisy 
pedestrians  tooted  horns,  the  diners  within  the  restaurants 
raised  their  glasses  and  drank  the  toast  of  the  year  amid 
shouts  of  laughter,  maudlin  cries,  —  each  in  his  condition  and 
kind  expressing  the  common  will  to  live  and  be  glad  in  this 
new  space  of  time.  .  .  . 

Near  the  corner  of  the  avenue  where  the  lights  from  Loril 
lard's  rooms  shone  upon  the  dense  throng  outside,  Hugh  was 
caught  in  the  press  and  waited  upon  the  steps  of  a  little  church. 
The  wave  of  deafening'^sound  bore  him  away  above  the  heads 
of  the  multitude  in  the  streets,  over  the  glimmering  mist  of 
lights  in  the  tall  buildings,  out  into  the  soft  heavens,  suffused 
with  light,  resonant  with  voices.  This  was  man's  New  Year 

—  hope,  courage,  and  the  heart's  desire!     Man  greeted  his 
future  with  one  long  shout  of  courage. 

Suddenly  on  all  that  voluminous  discord  there  fell  the  sil 
very  notes  of  chimes  from  the  belfry  of  the  little  church. 
Not  blending  with  the  screams  and  jangling  bells,  but  sounding 


384  A  LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

clear  in  a  lower  key,  the  chimes  poured  forth  in  sweet  unison 
their  message  of  the  New  Year.  Hugh  closed  his  eyes,  and 
suddenly  he  seemed  no  longer  in  the  noisy  City,  hemmed  by 
the  throng,  but  alone  in  a  distant,  silent  room  at  dawn  filled 
with  a  stream  of  silver  melody.  The  voice  of  a  great  spirit 
was  calling  from  afar  to  such  as  would  heed,  calling  in  its  own 
low,  peculiar  note,  unmixed  with  clamor,  calling  not  to  the 
sense,  but  to  the  spirit  in  men. 

To  him,  as  to  all  who  listened  for  the  undertones  beneath 
the  hilarious  clamor,  the  silver  tones  spoke,  "A  new  world, 
a  new  life  I  bring  to  the  hearts  of  all !  Lo,  always  thus,  a  new 
world,  a  new  life,  to  be  found  in  the  hearts  of  those  who 
listen!  Struggle  and  failure,  success  and  joy,  they  are  of 
the  body  in  its  raiment,  but  within  there  is  neither  sorrow  nor 
failure.  For  in  me  is  Life !  All  else  is  but  the  mist  upon  the 
eyes,  the  mist  of  passing  days.  In  me  is  Life!"  the  bells 
sang  on,  in  higher  key,  climbing  upwards  in  aspiration.  "And 
in  me,  the_§pjrr^,withm,  there  is  no  failure,  no  defeat,  no 
>  despair,  no  sorrow!  To  you  I  speak,  the  one  alone  in  the 
multitude  who  will  give  heed, —  a  new  world,  a  new  life — " .  .  . 

The  chimes  ceased,  and  the  booming  jubilation  of  the  great 
City  seemed  to  be  hushed,  the  boisterous  throngs  less  noisy. 
An  old  man  clung  unsteadily  to  the  paling  of  the  church  fence, 
looking  up  to  the  belfry,  and  behind  his  bleared  eyes  there  was 
a  gleam  of  that  other  hope,  —  a  small  space  of  calm  and 
understanding  that  Hugh,  passing  the  stranger,  saw.  .  .  . 
The  crowd  was  now  dissolving  rapidly  in  the  street;  the  f casters 
were  pouring  from  the  doors  of  the  restaurant.  The  fete 
was  finished  for  the  year!  As  Hugh  slowly  made  his  way  past 
the  restaurant,  there  was  a  disturbance  about  the  glass  vesti 
bule  where  men  and  women  were  standing  waiting  for  their 
cars  to  approach.  A  woman  with  a  large  hat  tipped  awry 
on  her  dishevelled  head  was  clutching  at  the  arm  of  a  man  in  a 
long  coat  with  silk  hat,  who  had  just  come  from  the  restaurant. 


THE   BACCHANAL  385 

you  come  with  me!"  she  was  saying  thickly. 
"You  know  me  all  right."  The  man,  embarrassed,  was  trying 
to  get  away  from  her,  and  those  near  by  laughed  wantonly,  all 
warmed  with  wine  and  merriment.  Finally  the  man,  with  a 
fierce  movement,  shook  off  the  woman's  clutch,  and  she  fell 
unsteadily  across  the  step,  while  the  bystanders  drew  aside. 
Raising  herself,  with  her  hands  on  the  pavement,  she  cursed 
the  man  with  frank  indecency.  Hugh  lifted  her  to  her  feet, 
and,  still  cursing  the  man,  who  was  edging  away,  she  said 
drunkenly,  " Don't  know  me!" 

She  made  a  lunge  to  follow  the  escaping  man.  Her  out 
stretched,  ungloved  hand  had  but  two  fingers,  with  a  long  scar 
running  up  the  wrist.  "You  don't  know  your  Minna!"  she 
shrieked.  The  people,  even  in  their  vinous  mood  of  New  Year 
fellowship,  were  shocked  by  the  woman's  language,  and  moved 
away.  Hugh,  grasping  the  maimed  hand,  dragged  the  woman 
by  force  into  the  crowded  street,  trying  to  quiet  her  cries. 
Perceiving  a  policeman  pushing  his  way  forward,  he  led  her 
behind  an  advancing  car,  where  they  might  escape  hi  the 
throng. 

A  lady  in  the  car  bent  forward  and  looked  at  the  two  closely. 

"It's  getting  rowdy,"  complained  the  man  at  her  side, — 
the  banker  Oliver  Whiting,  —  who  had  not  wished  to  join 
the  party  at  Lorillard's. 

"That  is  Hugh  Grant!"  his  wife  exclaimed,  "the  man  with 
the  woman." 

"Grant!"  the  banker  said,  and  looking  back,  watched 
Hugh's  efforts  to  guide  Minna's  uncertain  steps  through  the 
press.  "A  common  woman  of  the  streets  with  him!  He 
must  have  fallen  pretty  low." 

His  wife,  looking  fixedly  at  the  two,  made  no  response, 

and    as    the    car    at    last    extricated    itself    and    turned 

into  the  avenue,  each  settled  back  into  a  corner,  silently, 

very   much    apart.     It    had    been    a    fatiguing    day    for 

2c 


386  A   LIFE  FOR  A   LIFE 

the  philanthropist,  who  had  presided  at  a  large  dinner, 
opened  the  new  wing  of  Arnold's  Museum,  and  been  brought 
to  Ravi's  party  at  the  restaurant.  He  dozed,  and  gave  little 
thought  to  Grant,  less  to  the  woman,  and  none  at  all  to  that 
small  business  firm  of  shirtmakers  that  had  been  wiped  out 
long  since  from  the  competitive  game  in  one  of  those  transac 
tions  which  had  passed  for  a  moment  under  his  busy  eyes  as 
the  president  of  the  great  Bank  of  the  Republic.  If  some  spirit 
of  the  air  had  spoken  to  his  satisfied  consciousness,  saying, 
"  You,  Oliver,  are  bound  to  that  drunken  '  common  woman  of 
the  streets/  much  more  than  the  failure  Hugh  Grant,"  he 
would  have  stared  in  injured  protest.  But  he  slept  the  short 
journey  to  his  home  at  peace  with  himself.  And  the  white- 
faced  woman  by  his  side  stared  before  her  in  meditation, — 
thinking  her  own  thoughts.  .  .  . 

Meanwhile  Hugh  had  succeeded  in  extricating  his  burden 
from  the  jeering  crowd,  and  amid  the  frank  remarks  and  hoots 
of  the  bystanders  had  led  and  dragged  Minna  into  a  quiet 
side  street  in  the  direction  of  his  room.  She  was  muttering 
broken  phrases,  imprecations,  and  bewildered  explanations, 
and  to  his  demand  where  she  lived  replied :  — 

"You  don't  want  to  know  where  I  live!  Let  me  sifc 
down  here!"  indicating  a  doorstep.  But  Hugh  kept  on  with 
her,  and  took  her  up  to  his  room  in  the  attic.  She  sank  upon 
his  bed,  murmuring  in  stupid  content:  — 

"What's  your  name?" 

"Grant  —  Hugh  Grant?    Don't  you  know  me,  Minna?" 

"Grant  —  Hugh,"  she  mumbled,  "don't  remember  Hugh  — 
so  many  friends  —  you  are  a  good  friend,  Hugh,"  and  went 
into  sleep. 

Hugh  removed  the  large  hat  from  her  face.  It  was  the 
blurred  image  of  the  girl  he  had  known,  the  Minna  of  the  shirt- 
factory  and  the  sweat-shop.  He  put  a  pillow  under 
her  head,  and  covered  her  with  a  blanket,  then  sat 


THE  BACCHANAL  387 

down  at  his  table  to  write.  The  sound  of  the  New 
Year  gayety  was  dying  down.  Intermittent  toots  of 
horns  and  explosions  of  fireworks  still  came  up  from  the 
streets  through  the  warm  night.  Gradually,  however,  the 
City  became  almost  still,  single  shouts  and  cries  from  belated 
revellers  in  the  street  alone  disturbing  the  night.  He  took  up 
the  sheets  of  paper  upon  the  table  and  tried  to  immerse  himself 
in  his  great  theme.  But  that  dull  fatigue  he  had  felt  of  late 
had  suddenly  given  place  to  a  physical  pain,  stabbing  him  at 
times  like  a  sharp  knife.  He  sat  staring  at  the  paper  before 
him  with  its  written  words  from  which  all  meaning  had 
somehow  fled.  The  importance  of  these  words  seemed  less 
to  him  with  the  presence  of  the  woman  soddenly  sleeping 
on  the  bed.  .  .  .  The  Anarch  said,  "Do  something!  Get 
out  and  do  something!" 

Ay,  what  force  had  spoken  or  written  words!  .  .  . 
Gossom's  beacon  shed  a  soft  light  into  the  room,  and  his 
eyes  resting  on  the  familiar  Symbol  seemed  to  see  a  scroll  of 
grinning  faces  of  innumerable  gnomes  frisking  in  the  broad 
beams  from  the  electric  globes.  They  said,  "We  do!  We 
DO  ! "  and  grinned.  The  pain  within  him  gripped  tighter,  as  if 
it  were  getting  firm  hold  of  his  body.  He  sat  staring  into  the 
light  of  the  Symbol,  while  the  woman  slept  heavily  on,  and 
the  City  became  utterly  still  about  him. 

In  the  first  gray  of  the  dawn,  before  the  electric  sign  had 
ceased  to  shine,  a  great  wind  suddenly  blew  in  strong  gusts 
about  his  attic  room,  lashing  the  old  tree  beneath  the  window, 
straining  the  stanchions  of  the  letters  on  Gossom's  roof.  It 
struck  with  a  rush  and  a  roar,  as  if  it  had  come  from  a  long 
distance,  sweeping  through  the  silent  city  in  fierce  gusts,  roll 
ing  away  southwards  over  the  land.  Just  before  the  heavens 
had  been  mild  and  misty  and  still,  hushed,  and  now  the  air 
was  full  of  some  mighty  impulse,  some  purpose  of  a  god,  to 
whirl  up  all  in  its  hand  and  sweep  clean  the  city,  its  streets 


388  A  LIFE  FOR  A   LIFE 

and  its  houses,  of  dead  will.  Hugh  rose  to  close  the  windows, 
his  pain  stilled  for  the  moment,  but  his  mind  keenly  alive, 
strung  taut  by  the  blast  of  fresh  wind.  It  roared  past  the 
windows  with  a  peculiar  large  voice  that  pierced  him,  exhila 
rated  him.  .  .  .  When  he  turned,  Minna  was  sitting  up  and 
staring  confusedly. 

"Where  am  I?"  she  demanded  in  a  low  voice. 

"Don't  you  remember  me,  Minna?"  he  asked.  "You 
knew  me  years  ago,"  he  added,  as  her  eyes  still  stared  dully 
at  him.  "When  you  used  to  work  in  the  shop  down  there  — 
the  shirt-factory!" 

"I  used  to  work  in  a  shirt-factory,"  the  woman  said  slowly. 
"That's  where  I  got  that!"  She  held  up  her  maimed  hand. 
"But  I  don't  remember  you, — what's  your  name?" 

"Hugh  Grant,"  he  answered.  "Don't  you  remember, 
Minna,"  he  urged,  "how  we  used  to  go  out  into  the 
country  —  " 

"Oh,"  she  interrupted,  brushing  her  hand  across  her  face, 
"you  were  the  young  feller  that  talked  poetry  to  me.  Yes  — 
I  remember.  What's  your  name?  Grant?  Hugh  Grant  — 
one  Sunday.  .  .  .  There's  lots  that's  happened  since  then." 

She  sat  staring  before  her,  seeing  ghosts,  and  presently  she 
said: — 

"How  did  I  get  here?" 

"I  found  you  in  the  street  and  brought  you  here.  You 
wouldn't  tell  me  where  you  lived." 

"Oh,"  she  laughed,  "where  I  live!  It's  not  much  matter 
where  I  live  —  I  must  have  been  pretty  bad  —  celebrating." 

Slowly  she  pushed  back  her  heavy  hair  and  slowly  reached 
for  her  hat. 

"Where  are  you  going?"  Hugh  asked. 

She  waved  her  hand  impatiently. 

"Anywheres,  I  guess.  .  .  .  Why  didn't  you  take  me  then?  " 
she  demanded,  her  dull  eyes  open  and  suddenly 


THE  BACCHANAL  389 

ablaze.  She  rose  and  stood  by  the  table  opposite 
him.  "You  could  have  had  me  then  for  the  taking  —  I  was 
ready  for  you.  .  .  .  But  you  wouldn't,  somehow.  Then 
the  other,  and  the  other,  and  all  the  others!"  She  made  a 
sweep  with  her  hand.  "Tell  me  —  why  didn't  you  take  me 
then?" 

A  gust  of  the  wind  shook  the  old  roof  and  whirled  away  with 
a  robust  clatter  over  the  city  buildings.  Hugh  saw  in  the 
blurred  creature  before  him  the  girl  of  that  afternoon  years 
before,  with  her  tempting  eyes,  her  waiting  lips,  and  he  re 
membered  the  wild  leap  of  desire  in  his  pulse,  —  that  spring 
day  beside  the  brook.  And  suddenly  from  his  lips  came  the 
answer  without  his  intent :  — 

"Because,  then,  I  could  have  done  nothing  for  you  now!" 

She  stared  at  him  in  doubt. 

"What  can  you  do  for  me  now?" 

"  Everything ! "  he  said,  unconscious  of  the  word  until  it  was 
uttered. 

Minna  laughed,  —  a  dreary,  dry  laugh,  and  her  eyes  seemed 
to  sweep  over  the  bare  attic  room,  its  poor  furniture,  the  slight, 
haggard  figure  of  the  man. 

"I  guess,"  she  said  hoarsely,  "there's  nothing  much  you 
nor  any  one  can  do  for  me  now." 

"Yes!"  She  had  started  for  the  door,  and  turned  at  his 
exclamation,  which  had  the  sharpness  of  a  command. 

"There  is  —  "  A  spasm  of  pain  shooting  through  him  si 
lenced  him;  then  with  an  effort  he  ended,  "Life!" 

"Life!"  All  the  scorn  of  defeated  generations,  of  years  of 
soiled  hopes,  sounded  in  the  word.  "Life  for  me!" 

Another  spasm  of  pain  made  him  silent  with  contracted 
brow,  and  then  he  brought  out  in  a  whisper,  "For  you!" 

He  sat  down  and  leaned  heavily  on  the  table. 

"You're  sick!"  Minna  exclaimed.     "What's  the  matter?" 

"I  don't  know,"  he  muttered. 


390  A  LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

She  came  back  into  the  room  and  poured  a  glass  of  water 
from  the  pitcher  and  held  it  to  him.  "Lie  down,"  she  said. 
And  she  placed  him  on  the  couch  where  she  had  lain,  and  cov 
ered  him  as  he  had  covered  her.  "Now  I'll  get  a  doctor," 
she  said,  and  left  him. 


XLIII 

THE  WHIRLWIND 

CANCER,  the  doctor  had  said  finally. 

The  mysterious  disease  had  been  feeding  upon  the 
sick  man's  body  for  a  long  period,  a  dull  lethargic 
torpor  indicating  its  increasing  grasp  on  the  tissue. 
Of  late,  it  had  taken  hold  of  some  vital  spot  and  was 
reaching  out  with  its  fiery  fingers  of  pain  into  the  depth 
of  the  organism.  All  these  years  of  his  man's  life  Hugh 
Grant  had  been  unconscious  of  this  body,  which  had  seemed 
stout  enough  to  carry  him  the  journey  without  complaint. 
Now  first  in  torpor,  then  in  torturing  pain,  he  became  aware  of 
the  flesh  of  which  he  was  made,  and  knew  that  the  end  of  it 
was  fixed,  and  he  was  hastening  toward  that  end. 

He  would  make  no  change  in  the  routine  in  which  he  was 
established.  Each  day  through  the  winter  months  he  dragged 
himself  from  his  attic  room  to  the  marble  bank  and  performed 
his  task,  forgetting  as  he  could  the  gnawing  teeth  of  disease 
within  him.  At  night  he  dragged  himself  back  to  pore  over 
his  books  and  papers,  to  set  forward  as  far  as  he  could  the 
great  theme  that  summed  and  expressed  his  individual  ex 
perience  of  life.  To  the  very  end,  he  would  earn  the  needed 
pittance  of  bread,  forbearing  to  be  a  burden  upon*  the  willing 
shoulders  of  friends  and  comrades,  holding  tenaciously  to  the 
shell  of  himself  fast  crumbling.  The  Venables  urged  him  to  re 
turn  to  them,  to  live  among  friends,  who  might  soften  the  edge 
of  his  pain  with  their  love.  But  he  wished  to  end  in  the  City, 
where  he  had  begun  his  man's  life,  and  alone.  So  they  did  what 
they  could  in  friendly  fashion  to  make  the  sick  man  com- 

391 


392  A  LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

fortable,  and  left  him  in  peace,  tended  frequently  by  the 
woman  Minna,  who  would  come  and  sit  with  him  evenings 
when  the  others  had  left. 

The  day  came  when  he  could  make  the  journey  to  the 
Bank  no  more;  in  company  with  Venable  he  crossed  the 
great  marble  rotunda  for  the  last  time.  He  paused  at  the 
edge  of  the  marble  screen  to  watch  the  clerks  counting  the  piles 
of  money,  sorting  their  papers,  and  making  ready  to  leave  for 
the  day.  The  light  tinkle  of  coin  fell  softly  in  the  hushed 
building,  and  the  deft  fingers  of  the  men  moved  automati 
cally  at  their  tasks.  The  familiar  task,  to  which  he  had 
come  as  a  youth  in  ignorance,  from  which  he  had  revolted 
in  desire  for  freedom,  rilled  him  now  with  a  strange  regret. 
It  was  part  of  that  tissue  of  the  visible  world  which  he  was  lay 
ing  aside.  Venable,  sympathetically  understanding  his  wist 
ful  gaze,  remarked :  — 

"  After  all,  fate  placed  us  well  in  putting  you  and  me  into 
this  particular  shop.  Of  all  life  to-day  it  is  nearest  the  heart 
of  things.  You  and  I  have  touched  the  springs,  even  as  oilers 
and  wipers!" 

"Yes!"  Hugh  agreed,  gazing  upwards  into  the  lofty  dome, 
"the  Bank  gives  understanding  of  men.  Here  man  is  naked 
and  shameless  before  his  desire." 

He  made  an  excuse  to  descend  to  the  vaults,  where  the 
fat  guardian  of  the  strong  room  was  preparing  to  close  the 
huge  steel  door  upon  the  treasure  within  and  was  setting  the 
clocks  for  the  Sunday  sleep. 

"No  one  will  get  a  peep  in  there  until  I'm  here  next  Monday 
morning,"  the  fat  man  happily  exclaimed,  as  the  mechanism 
of  the  great  lock  began  to  revolve,  shooting  in  the  bolts.  "We 
are  tight  and  safe  now  —  only  an  earthquake  could  open  it 
up!" 

"Only  an  earthquake!"  Hugh  murmured.  "It  will  take 
the  hand  of  God  to  separate  men  from  their  treasure." 


THE  WHIRLWIND  393 

As  they  left  the  dim  vaults  where  slept  in  complete  security 
multitudinous  titles  to  Property,  Venable  said,  "Our  friend 
below  has  a  personal  pride  in  his  strong  box.  He  sits 
there  like  a  fat  figure  of  Minos,  gasping  for  breath,  and 
thinks  he  is  somehow  cheating  mankind,  holding  back  the 
hungry  horde  from  what  it  most  desires.  He  would  die  a 
thousand  deaths  before  that  round  hole  in  the  steel  vault! 
And  so  would  Oliver.  It  is  a  form  of  loyalty." 

The  uniformed  servants  were  closing  the  bronze  doors  of  the 
Bank  and  swinging  outwards  the  heavy  gates.  Under  the 
golden  haze  of  the  sultry  March  evening  the  crowd  was  pour 
ing  from  the  great  buildings  and  streaming  along  the  pave 
ments.  Hugh  and  Venable  made  their  way  slowly  in  the 
throng.  The  picture  of  this  human  stream  between  the  two 
walls  of  the  city  canon,  with  the  evening  haze  dimming  the 
vista,  was  never  so  beautiful  to  the  sick  man  as  this  night 
when  he  was  leaving  it.  The  preoccupied  or  careless  faces,  the 
figures  jostling  him  on  the  pavement,  had  a  human  warmth  to 
them.  If  each  might  speak  out,  the  call  would  be,  "Brother, 
brother, —  coming' my  way  in  the  stream  of  life?".  .  . 

"You  know,"  said  Venable,  "Oliver  may  return  to  us." 

"Indeed!" 

"It  seems  as  if  the  courts  of  Europe  had  been  less  alluring 
on  close  inspection  than  they  looked  from  this  side  of  the  water. 
He  resigned  his  post  after  a  couple  of  years.  I  should  sup 
pose  that  his  wife  would  have  kept  him  there  longer.  But  Oliver 
Whiting  is  more  of  a  figure  in  this  City  than  anywhere  else  on 
the  globe,  and  after  being  a  banker  and  a  philanthropist 
combined  in  a  city  like  this,  it  is  hard  to  become  a  mere 
ambassador  to  a  foreign  sovereign.  ...  He  opened  the  new 
gift  of  Arnold  the  other  day,  I  see.  He  will  probably  be  the 
figurehead  merely,  at  the  Republic,  and  continue  to  open 
museums  and  preside  at  hospital  boards." 

Hugh  smiled.     It  was  a  comfortable  and  honorable  destiny 


394  A   LIFE  FOR  A   LIFE 

sketched  by  Venable  for  the  successful  banker;    Alexandra 
would  aid  him  in  this  destiny. 

Late  in  the  evening  Minna  came,  as  usual,  to  spend  an 
hour  with  the  sick  man.  They  had  not  spoken  of  her  fate 
since  the  New  Year's  night.  They  had  ignored  all  the  years 
since  she  was  the  factory  girl.  To-night  Hugh  said  to  her: — 

"Minna,  I  have  left  the  Bank  for  good." 

"You  feel  worse,  then,"  she  said  heavily. 

"Yes,  —  it  cannot  be  long  now."  The  girl  waited,  look 
ing  at  him  steadily.  "I  have  earned  little,"  he  said.  "I 
have  saved  little.  That  little  will  be  yours,  Minna." 

She  made  a  gesture  of  indifference,  and  turned  to  the  window 
through  which  poured  the  steady  beams  of  SUCCESS.  Sud 
denly  throwing  up  her  hands,  she  exclaimed  in  savage  irony:  — 

"And  that  is  life!" 

Hugh  raised  himself  from  the  couch  where  he  had  been  lying. 

"It  is  life,"  he  said,  "and  I  have  no  quarrel  with  it." 

She  looked  at  him  through  the  tears  in  her  eyes. 

"And  you  must  have  no  quarrel  with  it,  Minna,"  he  added 
softly.  "It  is  both  terrible  and  beautiful,  —  ay,  very  beau 
tiful!"  He  stepped  to  the  window,  and  taking  her  hand  in  his, 
stood  looking  into  the  yellow  light  from  the  Symbol  and 
through  it  to  the  horizon  of  roofs  and  throbbing  lights  beyond. 
"For  life,"  he  murmured,  pressing  the  woman's  hand  tightly, 
"lies  chiefly  within!" 

A  spasm  of  pain  shot  through  him,  and  Minna  helped  him 
back  to  his  bed.  She  lingered  awhile  about  the  room  and 
then  went,  saying,  "I'll  be  back  in  the  morning  early." 

After  Minna  had  left,  Hugh  dozed  in  the  intervals  of  his 
pain,  then  rose  and  tried  to  write.  But  the  meaning  had  gone 
out  of  his  words,  —  all  the  intense  fire  of  purpose  with 
which  they  had  been  clothed.  The  Anarch  was  right:  the 
world  needed  the  deed,  not  the  word  any  longer.  There  had 


THE  WHIRLWIND  895 

been  overmuch  thought  and  talk,  too  many  voices  feebly  pro 
claiming  a  light,  now  here,  now  there,  with  egotistical  vanity 
hi  their  own  discovery.  It  was  a  word-weary  age,  this; 
it  hungered  for  deeds.  And  the  importance  of  the  great  insti 
tution  of  Property  was  already  fading  from  his  thoughts, 
with  the  decay  of  his  tissue.  It  had  blinded  him  as  it  blinded 
all  men.  In  truth,  it  was  not  for  .him  to  speak  the  flaming 
word  about  this  idol  that  had  killed  the  spirit, — for  some  other 
it  might  be!  He  gathered  up  the  notes  and  written  sheets 
upon  his  table,  and  dragging  himself  to  the  fire  scattered  them 
on  the  ashes,  watching  them  shrivel  and  crisp,  then  break  into  a 
momentary  flame  and  die,  each  to  a  curled  ash  with  faint 
traces  of  ink  marks. 

"Failure!"  he  muttered,  shot  with  sudden  pain  at  the  dis 
persal  of  his  final  purpose.  "All  failure!"  He  crawled  to 
the  open  window  and  looked  down  into  the  warm  night,  the 
dim  emptiness  of  space  about  him.  The  bright  sign  shone 
steadily  on  his  bent  shoulders  like  a  mocking  eye.  "All 
failure,"  he  murmured. 

The  little  panorama  of  his  life  sped  through  his  aching 
thoughts,  from  his  foundling  birth  to  his  end,  —  the  setting 
forth  for  conquest  in  the  City,  the  place  he  had  made  for  him 
self  at  the  Bank,  his  service  in  the  power  company,  the  sweet 
joy  of  his  love  for  Alexandra,  —  the  azure  sky  and  the  white 
snowdrifts  of  the  mountains  and  his  beating  heart  with  her  body 
next  his, — the  pilgrimage  with  his  Anarch  guide  over  the  land, 
learning  what  life  is  to  the  unprivileged,  his  refusal,  his  attempt 
to  right  a  single  little  wrong  in  the  vast  network  of  Evil  Will 
and  its  failure,  his  simple  protest  and  its  feeble  accomplish 
ment,  the  final  desire  of  his  soul  and  its  failure.  All  failure! 
And  in  this  dim  silent  hour  of  despair  the  tempter  of  tempters 
came  to  him  on  the  bland  beams  of  the  electric  sign.  "To 
be  effective  in  some  manner,  to  leave  some  mark  graved  upon 
existence,  —  that  is  the  only  excuse  for  living!  The  feeble 


• 


396  A  LIFE^FOR  A  LIFE 

are  worse  than  the  evil.  For  they  are  naught. "  The  essence 
of  the  poison  in  the  gospel  according  to  Gossom ! 
;•;  The  sick  man,  thus  abased  to  the  depth  of  his  being,  slowly 
raised  his  head  with  his  last  great  denial.  "No!  Not  failure, 
so  long  as  there  is  not  consent.  Even  the  least  of  the  dust," 
he  muttered  in  the  face  of  the  Symbol,  "is  worthy,  if  it  has 
refused  to  eat  with  the  spoiler  and  become  evil." 

He  closed  the  window  and  pulled  the  curtain,  shutting  out 
the  light  from  the  electric  sign,  and  threw  himself  again  on  his 
couch.  And  as  he  lay  there,  at  last  calm  and  serene,  he  saw 
that  the  devious  steps  of  his  feet  had  led  but  to  one  great 
purpose,  —  to  fit  him  to  die.  For  others  the  great  deeds,  the 
service  and  the  accomplishment,  for  others  fame  and  triumph: 

I  for  him  to  die  fitly,  the  dross  of  desire  and  self  finally  burned 
away  from  the  spirit  within.  He  fell  asleep,  thinking  of  Minna 
and  what  could  be  done  for  the  woman  after  he  had  gone. 

When  he  awoke  it  was  still  dark  night,  but  the  light  from 
the  electric  sign  no  longer  fell  upon  the  curtained  window.  In 
the  blackness  around  him  it  seemed  that  the  building  was 
swaying,  then  turning  on  its  axis  in  a  slow,  powerful  move 
ment,  like  the  twisting  of  a  massive  ship  in  the  grip  of  a  moun 
tainous  wave.  He  clung  to  his  couch,  thinking  that  he  had 
gone  suddenly  blind,  and  that  this  was  the  vertigo  of  dissolu 
tion,  while  the  vast  heave  and  gyration  repeated  itself,  again, 
and  yet  again  —  three,  four,  five  several  times.  Then,  in  the 
lull  of  motion,  he  heard  a  mighty  crashing,  a  clamor  of  dis 
solution,  as  if  huge  masses  dislodged  from  great  heights 
had  been  shot  downwards  into  the  earth.  He  groped  his  way 
to  the  window,  and  tore  aside  the  curtain.  The  scaffolding 
and  wires  on  the  Gossom  building  were  twisted  into  a  confused 
mass.  The  great  .City  was  dark!  Of  its  myriad  lights  not  one 
burned  in  the  black  vault  before  his  eyes.  A  hand  had  swept 
the  horizon  and  brushed  out  the  points  of  light.  At  last  through 
the  gray  dimness  of  the  dawn,  he  could  see  the  twisted  fagades 


THE  WHIRLWIND  397 

of  buildings,  the  roofs  awry,  the  rent  structures  of  men,  as  if 
the  mighty  hand  that  had  brushed  away  the  light  had  torn 
asunder  the  earth  and  the  buildings  on  it.  ...  In  the  still 
air  of  the  heavens  he  could  hear  the  crashing  of  stone  as  great 
masses  dislodged  from  cornices  fell  into  the  narrow  streets. 
And  then  suddenly  in  the  stillness  of  the  air,  amid  the  crashing 
of  stone,  came  human  cries,  little,  thin  sounds  of  agony  and 
fear,  rising  shrilly,  as  from  an  immense  distance.  Moment 
to  moment  these  shrill  little  cries  grew  more  terrible,  more 
pervasive.  .  .  . 

He  tried  to  get  out  of  his  room,  and  found  that  the 
door  was  twisted  into  its  casing,  and  all  his  force  could 
not  free  it.  Penned  in,  he  turned  back  to  the  window, 
and  suddenly  through  the  gray  murk  of  the  night  came  a  puff 
of  wind,  then  another,  until  the  heavens  were  full  of  wind, 
drowning  the  feeble  cries  from  the  earth,  hurtling  the  riven 
buildings  in  huge  pieces  across  the  streets.  The  floor  beneath 
him  rocked  and  swayed  under  the  blow  of  the  wind.  He  clung  to 
the  sill,  expecting  to  be  hurled  forth  into  the  pit  below.  But  the 
blast  sank,  then  rose  again,  with  a  great  rushing  sound  as  if  it 
had  come  from  space  somewhere  beyond  the  globe  and  struck 
the  earth  like  a  hammer,  then  glanced  off,  to  come  back  with 
another  blow  from  remote  space.  The  trees  in  the  park  be 
neath  bent  like  stalks  of  grass,  and  the  buildings  rocked  and 
swayed,  dropping  pieces  of  stone  from  their  bodies.  And  the 
voice  of  the  wind,  deep  and  full  of  rushing  sound,  was  more 
awesome  than  its  blows. 

It  was  the  voice  of  Power !  A  superhuman  force  seemed  to 
whirl  the  great  buildings  in  its  awful  grip.  The  base  of 
things  gave  way  and  the  moving  air  itself  became  support. 
It  absorbed  all  sound  in  the  volume  of  its  rushing  force. 
There  was  no  cessation,  no  lull  —  one  stream  of  terrific 
energy  beating  through  space  and  tearing  the  earth  by  the 
roots.  There  in  the  attic  of  the  swaying,  tottering  house,  the 


398  A  LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

sick  man  stood,  clinging  to  the  jamb  of  the  shaking  window, 
\  and  listening  to  the  voice  of  Power.  The  thought  of  danger 
that  had  first  come  to  him  had  disappeared,  and  in  its 
place  was  a  thrill  of  wonder  and  exaltation;  he  was  rest 
ing  in  the  hollow  of  the  storm.  It  bore  him  up  and  away 
from  the  earth,  stripping  him  of  torpor  and  weakness.  He 
seemed  to  live  as  never  before,  his  mind  and  body  tingling 
with  consciousness,  strung  up  the  gamut  of  being.  Thus, 
1  for  what  seemed  a  long  time,  until  the  uncertain  light  gave 
way  to  a  sullen  dawn  under  a  gray  sky,  and  he  could  see 
from  his  window  the  desolate  stretch  of  crumpled  and  yawning 
buildings  as  far  as  the  eye  reached.  The  tangled  web  of 
the  great  sign  had  been  swept  away  by  the  tempest, 
and  the  roof  itself  stripped  off  like  the  top  of  a  man's 
skull,  revealing  the  luxurious  apartment  where  Gossom 
held  sway.  Gradually  in  the  dust  borne  by  the  wind 
which  veiled  the  forlorn  City"  dull  spots  of  red  appeared, 
swelled  like  breaking  sores,  and  threw  off  dark  puffs  of  smoke. 
Fire  was  added  to  the  wreck! 

Watching  these  growing  spots  of  fire,  Grant  thought  once 
more  of  Minna,  and  became  uneasy  to  know  her  fate.  Crawl 
ing  out  of  the  window  to  the  broad  cornice,  he  slowly  made  his 
way  in  the  lee  of  the  roof  to  another  broken  window  through 
which  he  entered  and  thus  slowly  escaped  to  the  street. 

A  scene  of  devastation  lay  there  beyond  human  power  to 
grasp  at  once. 


XLIV 

THEN   THE   FIRE 

FOB  the  strata  of  the  earth  on  which  the  City  lay,  rooting 
itself  deep  into  the  ground,  as  if  weary  of  the  burden  placed  by 
man  upon  it  —  the  much  living  of  men  —  had  slipped  and 
shrunken,  twisting  its  human  garment,  rending  it  fearfully. 
The  broad  straight  avenues  were  pulled  and  sunken,  and  the 
serried  rows  of  building  walling  them  in  had  either  crumpled 
together  or  stood  at  all  angles,  one  to  another,  their  tops  curv 
ing  perilously  downwards  as  if  about  to  fall.  The  power  of  the 
wind  which  neither  steel  nor  bedded  rock  could  withstand  had 
hurled  these  fragments  torn  from  lofty  buildings  hither  and 
thither  confusedly.  It  was  the  field  of  battle  of  the  Titans. 

And  on  the  horizon  in  every  direction  the  fires  were  spread 
ing,  their  dull  glow  of  red  shot  with  inky  smoke  wallowing  in 
the  wake  of  the  wind.  ...  In  the  streets,  men  were  running 
aimlessly  to  and  fro,  like  excited  ants  after  the  upheaval  of 
their  home,  shrieking  senseless  words  with  open  mouths, 
while  others  cowered  in  the  lee  of  standing  buildings.  These 
were  windowless,  gaping  like  blind,  wracked  monsters  upon 
the  distracted  creatures  who  had  lately  been  their  masters. 
In  the  upper  stories  desperate  men  and  women  penned  within 
cried  to  those  beneath  for  help,  but  none  gave  heed,  each  one 
seeking  in  his  terror  safety  for  himself  and  the  wretched  things 
first  grasped  unconsciously  in  the  desire  to  save  possessions. 
All  human  dignity  seemed  stript  from  these  creatures,  bereft 
of  their  reason  by  the  shock. 

The  individual,  so  mighty  in  his  accustomed  place,  was  now 
naked  and  afraid,  —  a  pitiful,  feeble  ghost  of  himself. 

399 


400  A  LIFE  FOR  A   LIFE 

The  whirlwind  that  had  struck  the  City  such  mighty  blows 
sank  to  a  fierce  gale  out  of  the  north  that  fanned  the  fires, 
driving  the  pungent  fumes  of  smoke  through  the  tube- 
like  streets.  The  day  began  to  grow  thick  with  smoke 
and^dust.  In  this  blinding  atmosphere  Hugh  groped  his  way 
slowly  through  the  streets,  again  and  again  turned  back  by 
barriers  of  crumpled  refuse  and  yawning  pits  where  cellars 
had  opened.  He  stumbled  over  dead  bodies,  heard  groans 
from  dark  holes  in  unlighted  buildings.  Men  passed  him, 
quarrelling  and  fighting  over  plunder;  within  a  store  partially 
wrecked  a  crowd  swarmed,  fighting  for  liquor  to  quell  their 
fear.  Across  the  street  a  woman  shrieked  for  aid,  and  Hugh, 
going  to  her  rescue,  found  the  door  open  and  the  stairway  clear, 
the  woman  standing  beside  the  dead  body  of  a  man,  shrieking 
in  fright.  He  led  her  from  the  room  to  the  street  and  re 
sumed  his  way. 

Now  he  met  fleeing  groups,  some  with  little  carts  and 
baskets  in  which  they  had  piled  their  things,  and  others 
almost  naked.  Streams  of  fugitives  flowed  into  the 
broader  avenues  toward  the  higher  ground,  and  Hugh, 
following  the  human  drift,  at  last  gained  the  crest  of  the  City, 
where  its  scarred  face  sloped  away  on  every  side.  That 
great  avenue  which  ran  north  and  south  like  a  broad  line 
cleaving  the  City  in  two  was  furrowed  irregularly,  from  east 
to  west,  as  if  the  vast  subterranean  sea  had  heaved  and  left 
its  billow  between  the  tall  buildings.  Here  upon  the  hill  it 
was  calmer,  and  he  could  take  a  leisurely  survey  of  the  wide 
panorama  of  destruction.  Under  the  fan  of  the  high  wind  the 
fires  were  fast  eating  their  way  across  the  disk  of  the  City, 
but  the  area  of  building  was  so  enormous  that  as  yet  they  had 
made  slight  progress.  They  were  eating,  bit  by  bit,  settled 
as  it  were  to  a  determined  task  that  no  might  of  man  might 
resist. 

The   first   breathless  terror  of  the   catastrophe   passed, 


THEN  THE  FIRE  401 

the  fugitives  had  gained  some  measure  of  self-control  and 
method  in  their  flight  from  the  doomed  place.  Motors  were 
making  their  way  cautiously  along  the  furrowed  avenue,  —  cars 
filled  with  men  and  women  with  blanched  faces,  cars  stuffed 
out  with  possessions,  and  the  foot-farers  carrying  things  in 
their  hands,  dragging  things  after  them,  —  always  things,  in 
the  instinctive  need  for  possession.  From  the  windows  of 
the  houses  people  stared  at  the  procession  of  fugitives  as  if 
helpless  or  reckless  of  disaster.  Thus  some  fled  and  others 
stayed. 

Down  the  long  avenue,  now  bereft  of  its  pleasure  parade, 
singularly  forlorn  and  silent  on  this  day  of  desolation,  Hugh 
proceeded  on  his  return  to  the  lower  City  where  Minna  lived. 
Parties  of  men,  organized  with  leadership,  began  to  appear  in 
the  work  of  rescue.  They  went  from  house  to  house,  knocking, 
calling,  forcing  doors,  rousing  the  dazed  and  helping  the 
injured.  For  already  Authority  was  emerging  from  chaos, 
taking  by  right  of  will  and  manhood  leadership  in  the  crisis, 
struggling  to  stem  the  tide  of  license  and  fear.  .  .  . 

In  that  square  opposite  the  vast  hotel  where  the  Prophet 
once  played  with  the  actress  and  lost  his  beard,  a  fight  was 
going  on  about  the  possession  of  a  large  motor.  As  Hugh 
came  abreast  of  the  hotel,  he  saw  men  swarm  over  the 
coveted  car  and  drag  the  sole  occupant  • —  a  woman  • — 
to  the  pavement,  then  make  off  at  a  furious  pace  down 
the  avenue  in  the  captured  car.  The  woman  lay  stunned 
on  the  pavement  at  the  foot  of  the  statue  of  America,  the 
calm  eye  of  the  sculptor's  goddess  bent  upon  the  prostrate 
form.  Hugh  hastened  across  the  empty  square  to  the  still 
figure,  knelt,  and  removed  the  fold  of  her  cloak  from  her 
face. 

It  was  Alexandra. 

Her  eyes  were  closed  and  her  face  was  bleeding  from  the  fall 
upon  the  pavement.  Hugh  looked  for  aid,  but  no  fugitive 

2D 


402  A  LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

heeded  his  cry,  and  taking  the  lifeless  form  in  his  arms  he 
carried  her  to  a  shelter  in  the  vestibule  of  the  hotel.  Then 
he  took  the  still  body  in  his  arms  once  more  and  staggered 
with  her  into  the  deserted  building,  laying  her  upon  a  broad 
lounge  in  the  front  room.  He  groped  his  way  through  the 
dim  halls  in  search  of  help,  but  there  was  no  one  in  the  vast 
place  to  be  seen  or  heard.  So,  taking  some  water  from  a  table 
in  the  restaurant,  he  returned  to  the  unconscious  woman  and 
bathed  her  face  and  forehead.  He  touched  her  lips  with  the 
cold  water,  and  presently  she  opened  her  eyes  and  looked  full 
at  him  for  a  long  moment,  then  sighed  and  smiled. 

" Alexandra!"  he  cried. 

She  smiled  faintly  again,  and  closed  her  eyes.  At  her 
smile  the  white  mask  of  the  older  woman  slipped  from  her  face, 
and  he  looked  into  the  face  of  the  woman  he  had  known  long 
before,  in  the  peaceful  meadows  of  Paradise  Valley,  on  the 
mountain  heights  among  the  snows. 

"Alexandra!"  he  called. 

"You  have  come  back,"  she  murmured.  "Be  still  —  a  little 
while  —  I  will  be  well!"  She  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm,  and 
on  her  lips  there  rested  a  little  smile  of  content. 

From  the  burning  City  outside  came  distantly  and  faintly 
the  cries  and  shouts  of  men.  A  gust  of  wind  swayed  the  torn 
hangings  at  the  doors  of  the  room,  and  brought  in  the  acrid 
smell  of  smoke.  The  painted  stucco  of  the  huge  false  columns 
hung  in  shreds  from  the  flimsy  wooden  skeletons  on  which  had 
been  plastered  their  magnificence.  The  great  gilt  candelabra 
that  had  hung  in  the  centre  of  the  room  lay  in  a  tangled  mass 
upon  the  floor.  The  heavy  rugs  had  been  cast  into  heaps,  and 
in  them  were  caught  the  slender  chairs  and  tables.  All  the 
tawdry  grandeur  of  this  hotel  room,  imitative  in  its  splendor 
and  typical  of  the  City,  had  been  shaken  at  one  blow  into  its 
elemental  cheapness.  And  through  the  deserted  place  filtered 
the  cold,  acrid  air  of  burning  buildings. 


THEN  THE  FIRE  403 

Thus  they  met  after  the  years  of  their  parting  in  this 
strange  chamber  of  devastation,  where  once  before  they  had 
met  at  the  flood  tide  of  youth,  when  his  feet  were  on  the 
steps  of  power.  Alexandra  lay  on  the  couch,  motionless, 
silent,  with  closed  eyes,  the  little  smile  upon  her  curving 
lips,  and  he  knelt  beside  her,  waiting  as  she  had  bid.  Her 
flesh  was  pure  white,  unflushed  with  the  pulse  of  youth  as  he 
had  remembered  her.  She  seemed  less  in  stature,  —  not  wasted 
but  worn,  as  if  the  years  of  her  woman's  life  had  not  brought 
their  rightful  bloom.  It  was  neither  the  joyous  face  of  ex 
pectant  youth  nor  the  accomplished  face  of  physical  woman 
hood.  It  was  the  face  of  one  arrested  midway,  in  which  the 
spirit  is  still  writing  upon  the  flesh.  .  .  . 

She  opened  her  eyes,  and  looked  steadily  at  him. 

"So,"  she  said,  taking  his  hands  in  hers,  speaking  as  if 
waked  from  deep  sleep,  "I  come  to  you,  as  you  said  it  might 
be  —  when  I  should  understand."  Then  raising  herself  and 
with  a  luminous  smile,  she  murmured,  'When  I  had  lost 
all,  and  all  had  abandoned  me.  .  .  .  For  now  I  know,"  she 
said  softly,  "what  it  is  to  lose  all!" 

No  further  word  was  needed.  Upon  her  face  he  might 
read  the  story  of  the  years,  —  wife  not  mother,  princess  not 
woman,  power  not  love.  Every  joy  she  had  willed  had  come 
to  her  save  one,  and  none  had  filled  her  being.  Like  a  beauti 
ful  scentless  flower  she  had  lived  her  years  until  she  too  had 
come  to  know  the  truth.  And  more,  he  saw  in  the  peaceful 
eyes,  the  tender  lips,  that  the  truth  had  made  her  neither  bit 
ter  nor  small,  but  wise  and  strong  to  live. 

"Alexandra!" 

It  was  the  man's  cry,  echo  of  that  defeated  self,  which  had 
called  through  the  night,  years  before.  The  cry  of  sorrow  for 
loss  of  parted  lives,  for  loss  of  perfect  union,  fulness  of  com 
plete  life,  —  the  waste,  the  weary  waste  of  living! 

She  laid  her  hand  upon  his  lips. 


404  A  LIFE  FOR  A   LIFE 

"It  must  be  so,"  she  said.  "It  must  be  so!"  In  her 
smile  there  was  no  repining,  no  regret.  The  pitiless  road  of 
sand  led  out  of  the  desert,  even  to  this.  And  so  the  hunger  in 
his  heart  was  stayed. 

A  crash  of  falling  wall  startled  them  from  the  trance  in 
which  they  slept.  The  frescoed  panel  of  the  large  room,  pic 
turing  in  gay  figures  of  flower-laden  girls  the  coming  of  spring 
to  the  earth,  had  fallen. 

"We  must  go!"  Hugh  exclaimed,  perceiving  the  cloud  of 
smoke  that  floated  in  waves  through  the  lofty  corridor.  Alex 
andra  tried  to  rise. 

"I  was  on  my  way  to  the  Bank  —  my  husband  is  there 
—  in  the  City.  But  they  took  the  car."  She  sank  back 
exhausted.  "A  little  longer,"  she  murmured,  with  her  calm 
smile.  "It  can  make  no  great  difference  now." 

So  they  waited.  The  cries  of  men  in  alarm,  shouts  of 
warning,  reached  them,  then  passed  away  into  the  general 
clamor.  The  bitter  smoke  drifted  steadily  through  the  empty 
rooms. 

"The  City  is  burning  everywhere.  The  Bank  must  have 
been  destroyed.  But  it  makes  little  difference,"  she  mur 
mured.  And  with  a  touch  of  her  old  mockery,  "The  fine 
great  museum  we  opened  last  New  Year's  has  been  destroyed, 
too.  I  saw  the  heap  of  ruins  as  I  came  past.  ...  I  hope  the 
children  are  safe  in  the  orphanage.  I  must  go  out  there  to 
see!" 

She  rose  again  and  made  a  few  unsteady  steps. 

"There,  I  can  walk!  .  .  .  This  room  —  a  tattered  sham!" 
She  looked  about  the  place  where  she  had  passed  gayly  in  the 
thronged  world,  then  turned  to  the  entrance,  and  when  he 
would  leave  her  to  find  some  car  or  carriage,  she  said:  - 

"To-day?  To-day  neither  love  nor  money  will  command 
service.  Come  —  let  us  go  up  to  the  ballroom  above  and  see 
how  far  the  fire  has  spread." 


THEN  THE  FIRE  405 

So,  leaning  upon  him,  she  mounted  the  broad  staircase  to  the 
gaudy,  empty  room  above,  and  in  the  embrasure  of  one  of  its 
tall  windows  they  stood  side  by  side  and  gazed  at  the  burning 
City  around  and  beneath  them.  At  the  lower  end  of  the  City 
the  scattered  fires  in  the  different  sections  had  become  blurred 
in  one  cloud  of  black  smoke  through  which  the  highest  build 
ings  towered,  some  standing  gaunt,  untouched,  others  flaming 
with  innumerable  fiery  tongues. 

"My  father's  house  has  gone/'  Alexandra  said,  pointing  to 
a  black  circle  northwards,  "and  ours  had  started  when  I  left 
in  the  car.  .  .  .  The  orphanage  must  be  safe  —  it  is  outside 
the  ring  of  flame  and  smoke.  But  the  Bank  —  it  is  com 
pletely  hidden  within  the  cloud!" 

Men  on  horseback  dashed  past,  shouting  confused  orders. 
An  officer,  seeing  the  couple  in  the  window  of  the  hotel,  halted 
and  motioned  violently  with  his  hand.  They  were  oblivious 
to  the  warning,  their  eyes  fixed  upon  the  terrible  scene 
beyond,  and  finally  the  man  on  horseback,  with  an  exclama 
tion,  spurred  away,  leaving  them  to  their  fate. 

Standing  there  in  the  midst  of  destruction,  neither  had 
thought  for  self  or  for  the  immediate  present.  Something 
larger  than  human  fate  had  them  in  its  grip;  they  were  rapt 
together  into  another  sphere.  With  parted  lips,  her  hands 
clutched  at  her  breast,  Alexandra  watched  the  crumbling 
City,  —  with  the  ceaseless  drift  of  smoke  cloud,  the  crash  of 
falling  masses,  and  the  roar  of  flame,  borne  faintly  through  the 
air.  The  proud  City  was  being  stript  of  possessions,  and 
through  its  dim  streets  men  were  fleeing,  driven  by  flame  and 
fear. 

.  "It  will  be  swept  bare!"  she  cried.     "Oh,  God,  what  awful 
misery!" 

Like  a  tremendous  symphony  singing  the  theme  of  life  and 
death,  man's  struggle  with  fate,  the  mighty  chords  of  wind  and 
flame  drew  through  their  souls,  lifting  them  up  to  the  dark 


406  A  LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

heavens  above!  Thus  plangently,  positively,  in  the  speech 
of  eternal  elements,  the  burning  City  spoke  that  final  word 
which  lay  in  the  hearts  of  both. 

"Not  in  joy,  not  hi  the  heart's  desire,  lies  life!  ...  At  last 
thou  hast  found  me  out,  O  spirit  within!  Thou  hast  found  me 
out  hi  my  nakedness;  stript  and  scourged  with  flame!"  .  .  . 

Alexandra  turned  to  him,  her  eyes  filled  with  tears  of  inex 
pressible  emotion.  And  as  she  looked,  a  spasm  of  intense 
pain  seized  him  and  his  face  became  bloodless. 

" You  are  ill!" 

"Yes,"  he  said  hoarsely,  turning  back  into  the  room  which 
had  filled  with  smoke.  "I  must  get  you  to  some  place  of 
safety  —  this  building  is  on  fire!" 

"You  are  dying,"  she  said  softly,  clinging  to  him  unheeding. 

"Yes  —  there  is  not  much  time  now!" 

"So  it  is  the  end!" 

She  drew  him  to  her  and  kissed  him,  pressing  his  head  to  her 
lips  with  her  hands,  covering  him  with  her  enfolding  em 
brace,  as  if  she  would  take  him  from  death. 

"My  love,  —  oh,  my  love!"  she  murmured.     "At  last!" 

Unmindful  of  all  else,  they  who  had  met  at  the  extremity  of 
life  clung  thus  to  each  other  hi  complete  understanding  and 
will.  All  the  wild  alloy  and  illusion  burnt  within,  two  equal 
souls  had  met.  Lifting  her  head  in  that  swift,  masterful 
manner  he  knew,  she  said :  — 

"Oh,  life!    Life!    At  the  end  — the  end!" 

And  he,  stung  with  pain,  but  calm :  — 

"Nay  —  the  beginning  —  for  you." 

Another  long  moment  she  looked  at  him,  slowly  compre 
hending,  the  glow  of  triumph  in  her  eyes,  and  then  she  kissed 
him  again  with  cold  lips,  the  kiss  of  farewell.  .  .  . 

As  they  stumbled  toward  the  staircase,  Alexandra  suddenly 
stopped  and  listened. 

"I  heard  a  voice!" 


THEN  THE  FIRE  407 

"It  can  be  nothing/'  Hugh  replied,  and  as  another  wave  of 
pain  shot  through  him,  marking  the  ebb  of  his  forces,  he 
urged,  "We  must  go!" 

As  he  spoke,  there  came  through  the  cloudy  hall  a  childish 
wail. 

"I  will  see  —  stay  here!"  he  cried,  and  disappeared  into  the 
smoke,  groping  his  way  along  the  wall. 

Alexandra  leaned  against  the  wall,  and  waited  until  the 
stifling  smoke  threatened  to  overcome  her.  Then,  calling  his 
name,  she  stumbled  to  the  stairs,  and  at  last  she  saw  a  figure 
staggering  in  the  smoke  toward  her,  bearing  a  burden.  And 
suddenly,  like  a  flash  of  sunlight  in  the  murk,  she  saw  the 
youth  in  the  meadow  by  the  river  with  the  sobbing  child  in 
his  arms.  Thus  again  that  one  came  back  to  her. 

"Alexandra!" 

She  held  out  her  hands,  and  he  placed  the  child  in  her  arms, 
then  fell  to  the  floor  in  exhaustion.  Soon  he  raised  himself, 
and  on  hands  and  knees  they  crawled  to  the  stairs  and  stumbled 
downwards  to  the  street.  Outside,  men  were  standing  in  the 
square  watching  the  great  hotel,  and  when  the  two  with  the 
child  emerged  they  gave  a  shout. 

"Are  there  others  in  there?" 

Hugh,  speechless,  shook  his  head.  .  .  . 

Dragging  the  child  between  them,  they  made  their  way 
down  the  avenue  toward  the  centre  of  the  lower  City  in 
whose  smoky  depths  was  the  Bank.  The  human  distraction 
of  the  disaster  had  become  greater  rather  than  less  as  the  day 
progressed,  but  it  had  fallen  into  some  semblance  of  order  by 
this  hour.  Strong  men  with  self-assumed  authority  and  others 
hastily  appointed  were  systematically  searching  buildings  for 
the  living,  defending  the  injured  from  prowling  thieves, 
directing  the  flight.  The  fugitives  were  pouring  forth  from  the 
City  in  a  full  stream,  rich  and  poor  on  foot  and  in  cars  and 


408  A  LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

carriages,  taking  with  them  always  whatever  possessions  they 
could  grasp,  dropping  in  their  haste  and  fatigue  these  bits  of 
property,  so  that  the  streets  were  littered  with  the  goods. 
Men  and  women,  in  a  last  pitiful  effort  to  retain  their  prop 
erty,  cumbered  themselves,  endangered  their  lives,  and  ruffians 
preyed  upon  them  as  they  fled. 

Through  this  bewildered  mob  of  thieves  and  heroes  and 
cowards,  the  two  with  the  child  between  them  made  slow 
progress,  and  at  last  reached  those  cavernous  canons  where  the 
lofty  buildings  on  either  side  burning  far  up  above  the  earth 
made  such  fierce  heat  that  the  pavements  cracked  beneath 
the  feet.  Turned  back  again  and  again,  forced  to  a  devious 
path,  they  came  out  finally  upon  the  Bank  of  the  Republic. 
The  marble  temple,  sheltered  in  its  corner  by  the  embracing 
wings  of  the  great  building  behind  it,  had  escaped  thus  far  all 
harm.  It  stood  pale  and  aloof,  the  smoke  drifting  over  its 
snowy  surface,  the  flame  playing  rosily  upon  its  white  fagade. 
It  seemed  to  hold  at  bay  even  the  whirlwind  and  the  fire, 
jealously  guarding  in  its  depths  the  most  precious  of  men's 
possessions.  The  marble  figure  of  a  woman  bearing  in  her 
hands  the  symbol  of  the  scales  had  been  unseated  by  the 
commotion  and  lay  headless  in  the  street.  That  alone  had 
thus  far  happened  to  Oliver  Whiting's  marble  monument. 
The  great  gates  were  ajar,  and  a  group  of  men  stood  in  the 
doorway.  They  were  in  eager  discussion  about  some 
matter  when  Alexandra  and  Hugh  appeared.  The  fat 
turnkey  of  the  vault  jealously  held  the  door,  but,  recog 
nizing  Grant,  he  opened  it  sufficiently  to  permit  them  to 
enter,  then  closed  it  carefully. 

Under  the  dome  it  was  twilight,  and  the  great  marble  room, 
absolutely  empty,  was  hushed  in  gloom.  The  voices  and  the 
heat  from  the  burning  City  did  not  penetrate  its  chill  seclu 
sion.  As  they  stood  there  for  a  moment  in  doubt,  Venable 
appeared  and  came  toward  them. 


THEN  THE  FIRE  409 

"Is  my  husband  here?"  Alexandra  demanded.  "He 
started  for  the  Bank  long  ago,  very  early  in  the  morning  — 
have  you  seen  him?  " 

"Yes,"  Venable  answered,  in  a  hesitant  voice. 

"Where  is  he?" 

"He  is  dead,"  Venable  replied,  without  evasion,  the  strain 
of  the  terrible  day  making  all  tongues  direct. 

"Where  is  he?"  Alexandra  demanded,  quietly,  as  if  some 
one  had  told  her  an  expected  thing. 

Venable  pointed  to  the  stairs  that  descended  to  the  vaults. 

"In  the  vaults?  I  will  go  there!"  Taking  the  child  with 
her,  she  stepped  across  the  marble  floor,  and  Venable  followed 
her,  saying  gently,  "You  can't  get  in.  It  is  sealed  —  closed 
tight." 

"But  why  is  he  there?  "  she  asked. 

And  then  in  a  few  words  Venable  told  her  what  had  hap 
pened, — how  the  banker,  in  his  terrible  anxiety  rushing  to  the 
Bank  to  see  what  fate  it  had  met,  had  found  all  safe,  and 
descending  to  the  vaults  to  assure  himself  that  nothing  had 
injured  them,  had  not  reappeared.  After  a  time,  when 
Venable  himself  and  others  had  reached  the  Bank  they  had 
detected  the  deadly  fumes  of  ammonia  gas,  and  descending  as 
far  as  the  steel-barred  gate  below  had  seen  the  figure  of  Oliver 
Whiting  within  the  gate  at  the  entrance  to  the  great  vault 
where  he  had  doubtless  fallen,  overcome  by  the  deadly  gas. 
Either  the  secret  mechanism  had  been  jarred  into  activity 
by  the  upheaval,  or  the  guards  that  patrolled  the  room 
had  set  the  device  as  they  fled  from  the  shaken  building, 
thinking  that  the  Bank  might  be  sacked  by  the  mob. 

Thus  Oliver  Whiting  had  come  to  his  end,  at  the  door  of 
the  vault  which  held  his  property  and  the  Bank's,  in  a  vain 
attempt  to  reach  the  thing  nearest  his  heart  in  this  hour  of 
catastrophe. 

"We  have  succeeded  in  turning  off  the  gas,"  Venable  ex 
plained,  "but  we  do  not  yet  dare  to  enter  the  vault." 


410  A  LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

Alexandra,  at  the  head  of  the  marble  stairs  that  led  to  where 
her  dead  husband  lay,  said  simply,  "I  will  wait  here  awhile." 
She  took  the  tired  child  in  her  arms,  and  cushioned  its  head 
comfortably  against  her  breast. 

Venable  and  Hugh  returned  to  the  entrance. 

"  You  will  stay  with  her  and  see  that  she  gets  out  of  the  City 
safely?"  Hugh  asked  Venable. 

The  other  nodded,  saying  :  — 

"The  north  road  is  still  open,  and  Whiting's  car  is  in  the 
court  behind.  It  is  best  for  her  to  go  as  soon  as  possible. 
For  though  the  Bank  is  safe  now,  there  is  no  telling  when  this 
building  behind  it  will  crumple  up  and  drop  on  us.  It's  likely 
that  the  Bank  will  be  Whiting's  grave  as  well  as  his  monument !" 

While  Venable  went  to  summon  the  motpr,  Hugh,  with  a 
last  look  at  the  woman  seated  on  the  marble  step  in  the  silent 
Bank  as  in  a  tomb,  slipped  into  the  street.  Venable  would 
look  to  her  safety.  There  should  be  no  parting  between 
him  and  Alexandra. 


XLV 


THE   ANAKCH  MEETS  HIS  FATHER 

THE  excitement  of  the  day  had  given  new  strength  to  his 
exhausted  body,  new  fire  to  his  will,  but  now  life  was  failing 
fast,  and  he  staggered  as  he  groped  his  way  along  the  walls  of 
the  buildings  toward  the  bridge.  Doubtless  Minna  had  fled 
to  safety  long  before  this,  but  the  will  to  find  the  woman  which 
had  urged  him  forth  at  dawn  still  drove  him  forward  into  the 
roaring  cavern  of  smoke  and  flame. 

All  day  the  people  had  fled  from  the  City.  For  hours  the 
streams  of  little  black  figures  had  choked  the  main  roads 
northward  and  the  great  steel  bridge  to  the  south.  The  poor 
on  foot,  the  rich  in  swift  cars,  taking  with  them  what  they 
could,  judging  that  the  City  was  utterly  doomed,  had  sought 
refuge  in  the  suburbs  and  open  country.  Now  there  were 
left  the  laggards  and  the  looters  ;  also  those  stout  souls  who 
forgot  themselves,  their  own  possessions,  in  their  efforts  to 
save  what  they  might  of  the  wrecked  City.  Already  these 
were  working  in  companies,  fighting  fire  and  fighting  the 
jackals  that  were  prowling  about  the  carcass  of  the  City. 

For  in  this  desperate  hour  the  rabble  were  left  —  with  the 
brave  —  free  at  last  to  glut  themselves  in  the  City.  As  Hugh 
painfully  crawled  the  short  distance  between  the  Bank  and 
the  bridge,  he  saw  plunderers  sacking  shops,  drunkards 
stretched  in  doorways,  thugs  robbing  men  in  the  middle  of  the 
street.  Thus  the  hand  of  the  criminal  reached  in  frantic  lust 
for  that  which  life  had  denied  him.  .  .  .  He  stumbled  on, 
over  dead  bodies,  through  groups  of  drunken  men  and 
thieves 

411 


412  A  LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

As  he  emerged  upon  the  open  square  before  the  approach 
to  the  great  bridge,  the  terrible  beauty  of  the  scene  at  this  hour 
of  the  dying  day  burst  upon  him  anew.  That  which  man  in 
his  reckless,  greedy  haste  to  get  money  had  failed  to  make 
of  his  home,  the  hand  of  the  whirlwind  and  the  fire  had  given 
it.  At  last  the  eating  fires  whipped  by  the  wind  focussed 
here  at  the  southern  edge  of  the  City.  The  miserable  tene 
ments  that  crowded  this  part  of  the  City  around  the  bridge 
were  covered  in  a  thick  cloud  of  smoke,  through  which  shot 
little  leaping  tongues  of  fire.  Behind  them  the  lofty  build 
ings  stood  like  huge  towers  in  the  smoky  heaven,  belching 
fire  from  their  many  windows.  Over  all  streamed  the  rack, 
illuminated  with  fiery  particles  of  floating  de*bris  and  comet- 
like  showers  of  sparks. 

The  dreary  dwellers  in  the  tenements  were  being  driven 
into  the  open  square  before  the  bridge,  as  the  flames  licked 
their  homes,  row  after  row,  until  a  solid  mass  of  human 
beings  was  pent  in  the  narrow  space,  through  which  a  com 
pany  of  soldiers  strove  in  vain  to  keep  open  a  lane  for  the 
cars  and  carts  that  pressed  upwards  to  gain  the  bridge.  Rich 
vehicles  had  been  abandoned  by  their  frightened  occupants 
in  the  midst  of  the  jam  and  looted  by  the  frenzied  mob. 
Hoarse  shouts  and  the  roar  of  the  approaching  fire,  the 
sickening  cloud  of  black  smoke,  added  to  the  horror  of  the 
scene.  .  . 

On  a  granite  pillar  of  the  parapet  to  the  bridge  appeared 
the  figure  of  a  large  man,  clinging  to  the  bronze  lamp.  He 
was  shouting  to  the  heedless  mob  who  were  pushing  and 
trampling  one  another  in  the  effort  to  get  foothold  on  the 
bridge.  The  man's  loose  coat  was  torn,  and  the  thick 
beard  and  hair  of  his  uncovered  head  waved  in  the  wind. 
It  was  the  Anarch,  come  into  his  own. 

"Men!"  he  shouted  to  the  struggling  mob.  "Go  back! 
Go  back  into  the  city.  Let  the  women  and  children,  let  the 


THE  ANARCH  MEETS  HIS  FATHER    413 

rich  and  the  cowards,  escape.  Now  is  your  time!  Now! 
The  fire  is  the  hand  of  God,  doing  your  work  for  you.  It  is 
stripping  the  plunderer  of  his  plunder.  Go  back!"  and 
leaning  down,  he  hissed  into  the  faces  of  the  fleeing  mob, 
"The  banks!  They  are  left!  Now  is  the  time  to  complete 
the  work.  Blow  up  the  banks !  Blow  up  the  banks !" 

Some  drunken  hoodlums  took  up  the  cry  and  repeated  it 
ironically:  — 

"Blow  up  the  banks  —  to  hell  with  the  banks! " 

But  the  pushing  mob  of  men  and  women,  with  stern  faces, 
bearing  in  their  arms  little  children,  scarce  looked  at  the 
Anarch,  as  they  fought  for  room  on  the  bridge,  which  led  to 
safety. 

"Men!"  the  Anarch  bellowed  again.  "Will  you  leave 
them  their  plunder  in  the  bank  vaults  ?  " 

The  mob  pushed  on  up  the  bridgeway. 

"Men!"  the  Anarch  shrieked.  .  .  .  There  was  the  hoarse 
bellow  of  a  motor  horn  at  the  approach  below.  A  great  car 
in  which  was  seated  a  solitary  figure  of  an  old  man,  alone  in 
the  empty  car,  was  plunging  rapidly  through  the  black  crowd. 
The  powerful  car  divided  the  human  mass  like  the  prow  of 
a  steamship,  throwing  men,  women,  and  children  aside 
amid  a  storm  of  curses.  The  driver  crouched  behind  his 
wheel  drove  forward  up  the  approach  at  full  speed,  intending 
to  cut  his  way  by  brute  force  through  the  mass  of  human 
beings  jammed  between  the  parapets  of  the  bridge.  The  old 
man  sitting  solitary  in  the  great  car  looked  forward  unsee- 
ingly  into  the  crowd.  Thus,  bellowing  its  warning,  cleaving 
the  crowded  roadway,  the  car  shot  toward  the  point  where 
the  Anarch  stood. 

Alexander  Arnold  —  for  it  was  he,  making  his  belated  escape 
into  the  country  —  sat  impassive,  motionless.  At  his  leisure, 
after  being  driven  from  his  home,  he  had  made  an  inspection 
of  the  City,  seen  the  great  museum  that  he  had  built  and  filled 


414  A  LIFE  FOR  A   LIFE 

with  the  loot  of  beauty  seized  by  fire,  had  watched  unmoved 
the  destruction  of  acres  of  buildings,  the  blowing  up  of  houses 
and  stores;  then,  his  survey  finished,  judging  the  catastrophe 
complete,  had  ordered  the  retreat,  and  while  still  under  the 
wrack  of  the  burning  City  he  had  dismissed  the  thing  from  his 
mind,  wiped  it  from  the  ledger,  so  to  speak,  and  his  busy  mind 
was  spinning  a  new  web  to  be  woven  on  the  morrow  that  must 
come  when  only  the  ashes  would  be  left !  For  all  the  millions 
that  he  would  lose  this  day,  he,  Alexander  Arnold,  with  his 
property  stretching  across  the  land  from  city  to  city,  must 
inevitably  make  again  tens  and  tens  of  millions.  After  the 
storm,  labor,  and  the  hand  with  money  in  it,  could  demand 
the  best  terms.  Thus  he  thought,  while  his  car  drove 
steadily  forward  through  the  press  of  foot-farers  on  the 
bridge.  .  .  . 

The  snout  of  the  great  car  pushed  its  way,  men  dragging 
their  women  and  children  from  its  path,  and  it  ploughed 
ruthlessly ,  until,  just  gaining  the  level  roadway  opposite  the 
lamp  to  which  the  hatless  figure  of  the  Anarch  clung,  a  woman 
was  caught  and  hurled  under  the  car.  A  groan  rose  from  the 
crowd,  a  curse  of  hate.  The  old  white-haired  man  looked 
neither  to  the  left  nor  to  the  right,  and  the  frightened  driver 
gave  another  touch  of  power  to  the  machine.  Then  the 
Anarch  dropped  from  his  perch  on  the  parapet  of  the  bridge 
upon  the  car,  his  right  hand  reaching  for  the  control,  the  left 
clutching  the  driver.  For  a  moment  the  deadly  machine 
slowed,  and  the  mob  with  a  yell  closed  thick  about  the  car.  .  .  . 

The  eyes  of  the  father  met  those  of  the  son.  The  Anarch's 
fingers  loosened  upon  the  lever,  as  the  two  thus  confronted 
each  other,  the  cold  gleam  from  the  brown  eyes  of  the  old 
man  meeting  the  flash  of  hate  in  the  Anarch's. 

"You!"  the  Anarch  cried.  "You,  at  last!"  and  he  raised 
his  weaponless  hand.  .  .  . 

"Drive  on!"  the  old  man  shouted. 


THE  ANARCH  MEETS  HIS  FATHER    415 

The  frightened  servant,  free  for  the  moment  from  the 
Anarch's  grasp,  touched  the  power.  The  great  machine 
gave  one  lunge,  leaped  forward  like  a  rearing  horse,  bearing 
the  swaying  Anarch  on  its  step.  In  a  moment  the  Anarch 
wrenched  the  wheel  from  the  driver's  hands  and  turning 
the  car  sharply,  headed  it  towards  the  City.  The  shrieking 
crowd  pressed  back  before  the  leaping  car.  .  .  .  Shots 
rang  out  above  the  roar.  But  the  car,  plunging  and 
swaying  under  the  grip  of  the  madman,  raced  into  the 
furnace  of  flame,  disappearing  within  the  smoky  canon  of 
a  street.  There  was  a  crash,  a  roar  of  flame  and  smoke, 
as  a  lofty  building  toppled  over  into  the  street.  .  .  . 
The  Anarch  and  his  father  were  answered  —  forever. 

That  was  not  the  last  sight  in  the  stricken  city  that  Hugh 
Grant  beheld  that  nightfall,  when  the  sun  was  setting  upon 
the  storm  clouds.  Pausing  at  a  corner  of  the  street  to  get 
breath  and  strength  to  go  forward,  he  heard  cries  above 
him.  And  there  on  the  cornice  of  an  old  house  above 
were  three  men  and  a  woman,  cut  off,  trapped  by  fire, 
blinded  by  smoke.  He  shook  in  his  helplessness,  crying  for 
succor  for  them.  Then  there  passed  him  a  man,  and 
another,  who  paused,  looked  up,  shouted  encouragement, 
plunged  into  the  burning  building.  He  waited,  sick  at  heart, 
until  far  above  him  in  the  drifting  smoke  he  saw  the  kneeling 
figure  of  a  man,  stretching  out  across  an  abyss  of  sickening 
space,  then  another,  —  risking  their  lives  to  save.  ...  It 
was  done!  And  with  a  smile  on  his  face  at  the  thought  of 
all  the  noble  deeds  like  this  being  done  that  day,  throughout 
the  City,  men  giving  themselves  without  one  thought  for 
self,  men  living  at  last  freely  and  nobly,  he  went  on  his  way, 
erect  once  more,  pain  forgotten,  triumphant  over  death  fast 
coming.  Into  the  cloud  wrack  of  smoke  he  disappeared 
from  sight,  —  searching  for  Minna,  the  whore. 


AFTER 


AFTER  THE   STORM 

IT  was  a  wonderful  spring  morning,  still  and  soft  and  full  of 
golden  light.  The  storm  had  spent  its  fury  at  last  in  a  deluge 
of  rain  that  had  washed  the  wrack  from  the  sky  and  quenched 
the  eating  flames.  From  the  smouldering  pits  where  the  fire 
still  persisted'  thin  spirals  of  smoke  rose  straight  in  the  pure 
air  to  the  blue  heavens,  like  the  expiring  breath  of  a  slain 
monster. 

On  a  hillside  at  the  verge  of  the  City  where  a  large  body  of 
fugitives  had  found  temporary  refuge  the  birds  twittered 
among  the  green  thickets  in  the  abandon  of  spring  and  the 
joyous  sunlight.  And  the  bedraggled  men  and  women  in 
motley  garments,  dirty  and  dishevelled,  gathered  about  the 
camp  fires  before  the  tents  and  the  sheds  of  a  quarry  where 
they  had  housed  themselves  and  chatted  lightly  like  the  birds 
on  this  beautiful  spring  morning.  A  group  squatted  around 
one  of  the  fires  began  to  sing:  the  chant  of  a  revival  hymn 
with  an  absurd  sing-song  cadence  filled  the  air,  unmelodiously 
submerging  the  bird  notes. 

"  Yield  not  to  temptation, 
For  yielding  is  sin. 
Each  victory  will  help  you 
Some  other  to  win! " 

The  men  standing  outside  the  circle  joined  in,  beating  time 

energetically  with  their  tin  cups. 

"Fight  manfully  onward!"  this  male  chorus  shouted  lustily, 
"They  seem  perfectly  happy/ '  Alexandra  observed  to  Ven- 

able. 

419 


420  A  LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

These  two,  having  had  their  coffee,  had  climbed  the  cliff  above 
the  quarry  and  were  gazing  at  the  distant  scene  of  desolation 
beneath  the  soft  sky  when  the  chorus  caused  them  to  turn  and 
look  at  the  fugitives  about  the  fires. 

"Of  course  they  are  happy!  ...  A  fine  martial  spirit,  — 
that  hymn.  Even  in  our  religious  moods  we  have  to  fight. 
The  sword  in  hand  is  the  popular  attitude  for  saint  as  well  as 
sinner.  But  there's  not  much  temptation  in  sight  at  pres 
ent!'7  he  added,  as  the  women  in  thin  treble  continued:  — 

"To  him  that  o'ercometh 
God  giveth  a  crown! " 

And  the  robust  male  voices  came  in: — 

"  Fight  manfully  onward! " 

"It  is  well  that  they  can  sing,"  said  Alexandra,  looking 
once  more  toward  the  City. 

There  the  lofty  buildings  still  dominated  the  devastation 
at  their  feet,  like  eyeless  fortresses.  But  all  the  rest  of  the 
great  City  —  north  and  south,  east  and  west  —  undulated 
in  a  flat  desolation.  As  far  as  eye  could  see  the  black  ruin 
stretched,  breathing  here  and  there  thin  streams  of  smoke  and 
vapor  from  its  smouldering  vitals.  For  weeks  these  sullen 
fires  would  keep  at  bay  the  eager  searchers,  seeking  their  dead 
and  their  treasure. 

The  great  bridge  still  hung  above  the  ruined  City.  It  had 
withstood  the  whirlwind  and  the  fire,  offering  escape  to  all 
who  would  take  it  until  its  approach  had  been  barred  by  a 
wall  of  fiery  flame.  It  was  still  safe,  and  across  it  this  spring 
morning  was  streaming  a  black  mass  of  moving  figures.  For 
already  the  fugitives  were  returning  to  the  smouldering  ruin 
of  their  City.  Companies  of  soldiers  were  patrolling  the  streets, 
keeping  back  the  curious  and  the  lawless,  directing  the  re 
moval  of  debris  from  the  main  arteries,  beginning  the  gigantic 
task  of  clearing  away  the  colossal  wreck. 


AFTER  THE  STORM  421 

"It  is  the  beginning!"  exclaimed  Venable,  pointing  to  the 
black  stream  on  the  lofty  bridge. 

"Will  they  go  back  there  to  live?"  Alexandra  asked,  with  a 
shudder  of  horror. 

"Of  course  —  why  not?  It  is  the  place  they  have  always 
known,  in  which  their  lives  have  been  rooted.  As  a  rule,  in 
catastrophes  like  this  one,  the  inhabitants  flock  back  as  soon 
as  possible  to  the  fated  spot  and  build  up  again,  —  much  as 
before." 

"  How  can  they  begin  again — there ! "  the  woman  murmured. 

She  was  thinking  of  the  streets  starred  with  tragedies, 
deaths,  —  the  very  pavements  calling  out  sadly  of  the  past. 
And  she  was  thinking  also  of  the  larger  tragedy  of  the  great 
City,  which  had  been  so  manifestly  full  of  wrong,  less  than  it 
might  have  been  in  beauty  and  good  living,  stained  with  the 
evil  will  of  its  people. 

"Mercifully,"  said  Venable,  "it  is  human  to  forget  and  to 
hope  for  a  better  future.  .  .  .  There  are  great  business  inter 
ests  at  stake  in  that  rubbish  heap  of  twisted  steel,  bricks,  and 
mortar.  There  are  the  banks,  with  their  vaults  full  of  treasure, 
and  the  ground  itself." 

"So  there  will  be  no  real  beginning  —  no  fresh  start!" 

Venable  smiled  at  the  impulsive  woman's  thought. 

"Whatever  new  there  is  to  be  must  be  inwoven  with  the 
old,  —  always,  I  suppose." 

"But  here  the  earth  has  been  cleared  of  mistakes,"  she  pro 
tested.  "Men  have  the  chance  for  a  fresh  start." 

"They  are  men,"  Venable  replied,  "and  the  mistakes  are 
of  their  blood." 

They  turned  to  look  again  at  the  little  group  of  fugitives 
below  them.  The  men  were  already  starting  for  the  City  to 
take  part  in  the  first  labor  of  reconstruction,  leaving  the  women 
and  children  behind  them  in  the  camp.  These  still  dawdled 
about  their  breakfast  or  were  putting  their  impromptu  home 


422  A  LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

in  order,  drying  their  garments  and  bedding.  They  sang  as 
they  worked. 

With  a  gesture  that  spoke  the  word  of  the  hour,  Venable 
said,  "To  work!" 

"Yes,"  Alexandra  replied,  following  him.  "The  end  of  this 
has  not  come  —  yet." 

In  their  worn  faces  and  deep-set  eyes  could  be  seen  love  for 
their  task,  joy  in  this  stern  experience  of  want  and  effort. 


II 

PROMISES 

EVER  since  that  terrible  night  when,  after  waiting  for  Hugh 
Grant  to  return  to  them,  Venable  and  Alexandra  had  been 
driven  by  the  advancing  flames  from  their  refuge  in  the  mar 
ble  bank,  these  two  had  been  together.  Turned  back  by  the 
furnace  of  flame  from  the  bridge,  they  had  slowly  fought  their 
way  up  the  length  of  the  City  in  the  dark  and  smoky  night 
until  finally  they  had  gained  with  other  fugitives  this  hillside 
refuge  about  the  quarry.  In  the  gray  dawn  they  had  con 
fronted  the  chaos,  and  with  many  ready  helpers  had  set  about 
the  task  of  organizing  the  mob  of  fugitives,  providing  food  and 
shelter. 

All  this  time  their  close  companion  had  been  that  fat  guar 
dian  of  the  vaults  at  the  Bank  of  the  Republic,  who  had  attached 
himself  to  them  in  their  flight.  The  "Seal,"  Venable 
named  him,  because  of  his  wheezing  speech  and  lumbering  bulk 
and  the  fierce  black  mustache  that  drooped  over  his  thick  lips. 
The  Seal  had  finally  led  them  out  of  the  black  pit  to  this 
nearest  refuge,  and  the  Seal,  asthmatically  wheezing,  had 
been  a  tower  of  strength  and  resource  in  those  first  dark  hours. 
He  was  but  one  of  the  many  nameless  heroes  who  sprang  up 
as  leaders  for  the  distracted  multitude  in  this  time  of  stress. 
As  Venable  said,  "  You  have  but  to  call  out  to  find  a  Man!" 
And  a  man  of  stout  heart  and  ready  response  to  the  call. 

For  it  seemed  as  if  at  the  blow  of  fate  which  had  struck  the 
City  an  altogether  different  form  of  life  had  appeared  to  meet 
the  emergency.  The  so-called  "leaders"  of  the  great  City 
disappeared  utterly  from  sight,  either  having  fled  at  the  first 

423 


424  A  LIFE  FOR  A   LIFE 

tremor  to  comfortable  refuges  at  a  distance,  like  President 
Butterfield,  or  being  displaced  as  incompetent  by  abler  and 
hardier  men,  —  clerks,  laborers,  mechanics,  any  one  who,  like 
the  Seal,  had  a  stout  heart,  strong  arms,  and  the  will  to  do 
things  for  others. 

So  in  those  full  days  that  followed  the  catastrophe,  there  was 
prodigious  labor  for  all  who  would  take  part,  —  providing 
shelter  and  food  and  clothes,  the  first  necessities  of  life  for  a 
cityful  of  human  beings  suddenly  bereft  of  all  and  thrown 
homeless  upon  the  earth.  Alexandra  and  Venable  labored 
ceaselessly  with  the  others,  organizing  about  the  abandoned 
quarry  a  camp  for  women  and  children.  Venable's  wife  and 
Madeleine  Upton  came  from  their  homes  to  help. 

The  tale  of  those  great  days  of  stress  is  not  to  be  told.  It 
was  written  unforgetably  upon  the  hearts  of  all  who  passed 
through  the  experience,  who  gave  themselves  without  reserve 
to  the  common  needs.  To  them  it  was  like  a  glorious  dream 
coming  upon  the  nightmare  of  catastrophe  in  which  they  lived 
with  a  joyous  freedom  of  will,  a  singleness  of  purpose,  a  sense 
of  power  that  they  had  never  known  before  and  were  never 
to  know  again.  It  was  a  time  of  special  heroism  which  they 
were  privileged  to  share,  —  days  of  superhuman  effort,  good 
will,  sacrifice,  and  kindly  humor.  The  personal  loss,  the  per 
sonal  sorrow,  was  forgotten  or  buried  deep  within.  To  dwell 
on  loss  and  sorrow  was  ignoble  when  all  suffered  and  all  were 
brave. 

At  nightfall,  after  one  of  the  long  laborious  days,  Venable 
and  Alexandra  were  resting  on  the  hill  above  the  quarry.  The 
desolate  City,  no  longer  lamping  its  presence  proudly  to  the 
sky,  lay  stretched  beneath,  its  ghastly  scars  softly  hidden  by 
the  twilight.  No  more  the  streams  of  smoke  and  vapor 
ascended  to  the  sky,  proclaiming  life  in  the  entrails  of  the 
expiring  monster.  The  fire  at  last  was  dead. 


PROMISES  425 

Already  the  crowded  camp  was  thinning,  as  the  men  made 
places  for  their  families  to  join  them  nearer  the  City.  Soon  the 
temporary  shelters  about  the  quarry  would  be  abandoned 
altogether. 

"To-morrow,"  said  Venable  at  last,  "they  will  try  to  get  at 
the  vaults  of  the  banks  —  they  are  sufficiently  cooled  now." 

Alexandra,  remembering  what  lay  beside  the  vault  of  the 
marble  Bank  of  the  Republic,  shuddered. 

"And  that  is  the  end  of  all  this?" 

She  looked  at  him  questioningly. 

"When  the  banks  are  open  and  the  saloons,  THIS  will  cease!" 

He  glanced  back  at  the  camp  where  the  Seal  was  enter- 
taming  a  group  of  children  with  the  story  of  the  famous  bank 
vault  and  its  hidden  mechanism  of  ammonia  gas,  while  he  dealt 
out  in  impartial  portions  the  evening  meal. 

"When  the  banks  yield  up  their  treasure,"  continued  Ven-  > 
able,  "  and  those  who  have  money  or  titles  to  property  are  ! 
able  to  get  at  them,  the  Seal  and  men  like  him  will  no  longer 
be  leaders.  The  Seal  will  go  back  to  the  ranks,  becoming 
again  the  faithful  servant  at  the  gate  of  property.  He  and 
the  thousands  of  good  men  who  have  helped  to  make  the 
pure  democracy  of  our  camp  possible,  showing  their  real  metal, 
will  sink  once  more  to  the  levels  of  opportunity  they  had 
in  the  old  order  of  things.  Their  manhood  will  no  longer  be 
needed.  .  .  .  Some  will  envy  and  some  despise.  The  poor 
and  the  rich  will  draw  apart  from  each  other,  instinctively 
taking  opposite  sides  of  the  common  street.  .  .  .  Do  you 
remember  how  the  Seal  disciplined  that  fat  broker's  wife 
when  she  tried  to  get  a  whole  tent  for  her  private  comfort? 
He  made  her  ashamed,  —  even  her!  But  think  how  she  will 
treat  him  when  she  enters  the  new  bank  a  year  hence! 

"Soon  they  will  open  the  saloons,  and  then  the  beast  in 
men  that  has  been  in  leash  these  weeks  will  spring  up.  There 
has  been  no  time  for  vice,  because  every  energy  of  mind  and 


426  A  LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

body  has  been  employed.  But  when  the  saloons  are  open, 
we  shall  hear  the  growl  of  the  beast  once  more!"  .  .  . 

So  they  talked  of  the  few  glorious  days,  telling  over  the 
splendid  heroism  of  men  and  women,  here  in  the  twilight 
before  the  coming  change.  Alexandra  was  wrapped  in  a  man's 
sweater  and  greatcoat  which  the  Seal  had  given  her  the 
night  of  their  flight.  Her  hands  were  stained  with  toil,  her 
rich  skirt  spotted  and  torn,  her  beautiful  hair  covered  with  a 
boy's  cap.  Her  face,  like  Venable's,  was  lined  with  deep 
marks  of  fatigue,  and  hollow-eyed.  All  that  she  had  considered 
since  her  birth  to  be  necessities  had  been  stripped  from  life, 
and  she  had  scarcely  known  it,  nor  thought  whether  they 
would  ever  be  hers  again.  A  great  reality  had  taken  their 
place,  and  in  the  glow  of  this  new  freedom,  unconscious  of 
self,  she  lived  as  one  new  born  into  the  world. 

Freedom !  She  was  free,  like  all  these  others,  at  last,  —  free 
in  spirit,  and  moved  without  the  limitations  that  the  world  had 
created  for  her,  that  she  had  created  for  herself,  in  a  new  and 
lofty  plane. 

"It  must  end  sometime,  I  suppose,"  she  murmured  with  a 
sigh.  The  cry  from  the  depth  of  her  soul  was,  "That  we 
might  always  be  like  this,  free!" 

"One  could  not  live  long  at  such  a  pitch  —  fighting  fate," 
said  Venable.  "But  it  is  good  to  know  that  men  have  it  in 
them,  —  common  men.  It  took  the  hand  of  God  to  shake 
the  City  and  strip  its  people  of  all  their  possessions.  Then, 
when  they  were  naked  and  bereaved,  the  spirit  within  them 
was  released,  and  for  a  little  while  they  have  become  themselves, 
—  large  and  free.  .  .  .  Again  and  again  it  has  been  so  in 
the  history  of  mankind.  It  will  be  so  forever,  as  long  as  man 
endures.  When  the  cataclysm  comes  it  is  not  the  beast  but 
the  man  that  emerges!  .  .  .  And  in  times  of  calamity  it  is 
always  the  little,  unknown  ones  —  submerged  and  ignored  in 
the  clamorous  days  of  self-seeking  —  who  show  most  of  the 


PROMISES  427 

divine  power.  Their  force  has  not  been  wasted  in  foolish 
desires.  There!" 

He  pointed  to  the  camp  below  where  Madeleine  and  the 
Seal  were  waiting  upon  the  children. 

"It  has  been  one  large  family  camped  in  these  fields  about 
the  City!" 

"It  must  last  —  something  of  it!"  Alexandra  exclaimed. 
"  Something  of  the  spirit  must  be  kept  alive,  —  the  courage, 
the  generosity,  the  forgetfulness  of  self.  No  one  who  has 
passed  through  the  fire  can  wholly  forget  what  men  and  women 
were  meant  to  be!" 

"It  will  become  a  glorious  dream." 

"Only  a  dream!" 

"  It  was  the  dream  that  Hugh  Grant  saw  —  and  the  faith  he 
died  in  was  that  it  could  come  to  be  reality;  that  one 
could  live  the  dream  even  in  the  streets  of  the  City." 

It  was  the  first  time  that  Hugh's  name  had  been  spoken. 
Alexandra's  deep  eyes  shone  brightly  as  she  thought  of  the 
man  dead  in  the  ruined  City,  whom  at  the  last  she  had  known. 

"His  life  was  one  long  defeat,"  Venable  continued  gently, 
"and  triumph!  Even  to  the -end,  when  disease  seized  him. 
His  was  a  spirit  at  war  with  circumstance,  but  the  spirit 
overcame." 

"Yes!"  Alexandra  murmured,  seeing  him  as  he  was  that 
last  time  in  the  burning  hotel,  the  light  of  the  unseen  in  his 
eyes.  In  silence  they  thought  of  this  man,  his  ashes  scattered 
in  some  byway  of  the  desolate  City,  —  the  foundling.  And 
they  knew  that  he  had  triumphed,  as  Venable  had  said. 

"To  break  the  circle  of  ideas  that  dominate  men,"  Venable 
said,  after  a  time,  "that  was  what  Hugh  Grant  believed  must 
be  done.  The  vicious  circle  was  broken  here  for  thousands 
by  an  act  of  supreme  force  from  without.  But  it  must  be 
done  singly,  individually,  each  with  himself  and  those  nearest 
his  influence.  The  great  end  cannot  come  through  political 


428  A  LIFE  FOR  A  LIFE 

action,  by  theory  or  programme,  by  any  division  of  the  spoils, 
any  readjustment  of  laws,  but  only  by  Will  —  the  individual 
good  will  to  renounce,  working  against  the  .'evil  will  to  pos 
sess.  ...  A  dream!" 

He  looked  back  at  the  little  groups  of  fugitives  gathered  about 
the  fires. 

•  "At  least  for  men  and  women  full  grown.  Among  them 
there  can  be  found  a  few  rare  exceptions  —  special  souls  who 
are  willing  to  leave  the  game,  renounce  winning  —  a  few,  a 
very  few  only.  The  habit  of  men's  lives  is  too  deeply  grooved 
to  change.  So  they  will  go  back  to  dig  in  the  ruins,  to  open 
the  bank  vaults  and  mark  out  their  plots  of  private  earth. 
They  will  build  up  again  as  they  are.  .  .  .  But  the  chil 
dren  —  something  might  be  done  with  them !  They  are  plas 
tic.  If  they  could  be  removed  from  the  world  as  it  is  and 
another  set  of  ideas  supplied  them  for  motives,  the  vicious 
circle  might  be  broken  —  who  knows?  Another  dream!" 

Alexandra  followed  his  musing  words  intently,  her  eyes 
fastened  on  the  bright  light  about  the  quarry  shed  beneath 
them.  The  organist's  widow  came  up  the  path  with  a  little 
child  by  her  side.  It  was  the  waif  that  Hugh  Grant  had  put  into 
Alexandra's  arms  in  the  hotel,  whom  she  had  kept  with  her  all 
these  weeks.  The  child,  perceiving  her,  came  running  forward. 
Alexandra  took  it  in  her  arms  and  held,  it  up,  caressing  its 
small  face  with  her  hand. 

"The  dream  shall  come  true  for  this  one,"  she  murmured 
softly,  "and  for  others  also!" 

Childish  voices  rose  from  below  in  the  words  of  a  song. 
The  thin  notes  on  the  pleasant  evening  air  were  like  the  twit 
tering  of  birds.  The  young  sang,  joyously  unmindful  of  all 
that  had  been  lost,  of  the  stern  future  before  them.  Foun 
dlings,  these,  waifs  from  the  great  flight,  bereft  of  their  par 
ents,  who  for  the  most  part  lay  buried  in  the  ashes  of  the  City. 
They  sang  their  little  song  at  twilight,  and  found  life  good. 


PROMISES  429 

"They  are  the  only  ones  worth  working  for!"  Venable  ex 
claimed.  "They  will  make  the  world  what  it  is  to  be.  Shall 
it  be  Gossom's  or  Hugh  Grant's?  It  will  depend  in  good  part 
upon  the  ideas  they  absorb  now  —  their  mental  and  spiritual 
food." 

"They  shall  be  my  children,"  Alexandra  said  softly,  clasping 
more  tightly  the  little  child  that  Hugh  Grant  had  put  in  her 
arms.  .  .  . 

Thus  the  foundling  whose  life  seemingly  had  gone  out  in 
complete  negation  —  a  failure,  a  feeble  protest  against  the 
lamping  Symbol  —  achieved  in  spirit  at  last. 


Ill 

PARADISE  VALLEY 

ONCE  more  Alexander  Arnold's  vast  estate  was  occupied, 
its  hall  upon  the  hill  verberant  with  voices.  Its  master  was 
not  there.  For  neither  he  nor  his  son,  the  Anarch,  was  found 
after  the  destruction  of  the  City.  They  had  died  together  in 
the  fiery  furnace  about  the  approach  to  the  Bridge.  Nor  had 
the  banker,  Oliver  Whiting,  lived  to  enjoy  his  wife's  princely 
estate.  Weeks  after  the  disaster  workmen  under  the  direc 
tion  of  Venable  penetrated  to  the  vault  buried  beneath  a  vast 
weight  of  steel  and  marble,  which  once  had  been  the  bank  of 
the  Republic.  Nothing  that  could  be  recognized  as  human 
was  left  on  the  threshold  of  the  strong  box.  The  banker  had 
become,  indeed,  dust  scattered  about  his  treasure.  The  steel 
vault,  however,  had  preserved  intact  its  hoard  of  money  and 
precious  papers,  and  so,  many  rejoiced  at  recovering  their 
property,  which  would  save  them  toil  and  place  them  at 
advantage  over  others  in  the  struggle  to  rebuild  the  City. 

Alexandra,  fatherless  and  widowed,  her  woman's  love  sealed 
hi  the  tomb  of  the  great  City  where  the  one  most  loved  had 
died,  opened  Paradise  Valley  for  her  family  of  children. 
Henceforth  it  was  to  be  the  home  of  foundlings,  —  especially 
of  those  waifs  from  the  great  disaster  who  most  needed  shelter. 
fin  its  pleasant  woods  and  meadows,  these  children  would 
grow  to  maturity  and  be  prepared  for  life.  Hugh  Grant, 
when  he  put  the  waif  into  her  arms,  had  given  her  this  new 
kingdom.  It  was  to  be  henceforth  her  life. 

430 


PARADISE  VALLEY  431 

She  took  with  her  the  organist's  widow,  who  was  alone  in 
the  world,  without  bond  or  desire,  and  shortly  afterwards  the 
Venables  joined  them.  At  first  Venable  had  gone  back  to  the 
City,  to  help  in  the  labors  of  reconstruction.  But  "  after  the 
banks  were  open  and  the  saloons/'  as  he  told  Alexandra,  he 
lost  interest  in  the  game,  for,  as  he  had  predicted,  the  City 
was  recreating  itself  precisely  as  before,  —  only  larger,  richer. 
"And  anyway,"  he  said,  "I  have  worked  enough  for  one 
man,  earned  enough  money,  and  brought  one  family  to  the 
producing  stage.  Now  I  want  to  play  with  you  and  see 
what  we  can  make  of  your  children!" 

So  these  people  busied  themselves  with  turning  the  mag 
nificent  estate  of  Paradise  Valley  into  a  little  working  world. 
They  kept  the  farms,  the  fish-ponds,  the  dairies,  the  gardens,  — 
most  of  the  manifold  activities  of  the  place.  But  instead  of 
the  deathly  quiet,  the  atmosphere  of  seclusion  and  selection,  in 
which  servants  and  game  had  flourished,  Paradise  Valley  became 
busy  and  noisy,  and  its  gates  stood  open  for  all  the  world  to 
come  within  and  see  what  was  going  on.  Many  old  friends  and 
acquaintances  journeyed  from  the  City  to  visit  the  beautiful 
mistress  of  old  Arnold's  estate,  and  to  look  over  her  "fad," 
as  the  family  of  foundlings  at  Paradise  Valley  was  commonly 
called.  Michael  Peter  Ravi  came  once,  but  being  especially 
busy  with  his  railroads  at  this  time,  and  receiving  small 
encouragement  from  Alexandra,  he  did  not  repeat  the  visit. 
President  Nathaniel  Butterfield  was  more  pertinacious,  and 
in  spite  of  his  many  activities  in  the  rebuilding  of  the  City,  — 
committee  meetings,  dinner  speeches,  addresses,  the  enter 
tainment  of  distinguished  guests,  etc.,  —  he  found  time  to 
renew  his  suit  for  the  hand  of  Arnold's  daughter.  He  regarded 
her  family  as  an  amiable  philanthropy,  becoming  to  a  rich 
widow,  and  as  such  professed  the  liveliest  interest  in  Paradise 
Valley,  hinting  broadly  that  it  would  make  a  suitable  depart 
ment  of  " sociological  investigation"  for  the  university. 


432  A  LIFE  FOR  A   LIFE 

But  when  he  realized  how  seriously  Alexandra  considered  her 
purpose,  he  undertook  to  show  her  the  folly  of  her  ideas. 

It  was  especially  a  matter  of  lively  dispute  between  Alex 
andra  and  the  college  president  what  sort  of  education  her 
brood  should  be  given  to  fit  them  best  for  life. 

"That  would  depend/'  suggested  Alexandra,  "what  one 
expected  their  life  to  be. " 

"Certainly!  But,  my  dear  lady,  you  cannot  undertake  to 
assure  all  these  wards  of  yours  leisure  — " 

"Surely  not!" 

"Well,  then,  in  the  struggle  for  existence — " 

"Is  that  the  only  life  to  be  expected  for  them?" 

"In  the  competitive  world,  where  they  must  fight  their 
way — " 

"Suppose,"  interrupted  Alexandra,  smiling,  "I  do  not  want 
them  to  fight  their  way,  as  you  say  ?  " 

"But,  but/'  stammered  the  college  president,  bewildered 
by  this  clever  woman's  ignorance  of  fundamental  conceptions, 
"that's  life,  dear  lady!  And  you  are  in  danger  of  unfitting 
them  for  their  destiny.  All  this  is  very  pretty!"  He  nodded 
over  the  work  benches  that  had  been  installed  in  the  hand 
some  garage.  "But  this  idea  of  giving  each  one  his  own  in 
terests  —  occupations  —  won't  work.  They've  got  to  fight 
their  way,  make  their  living  in  an  evolutionary  world,  for  which 
they  must  be  adapted." 

"Yes,  they  must  earn  their  bread:  we  hope  to  fit  them  to 
do  that,  at  least." 

"But  you  must  give  them  a  chance  for  success  in  the  stru'ggle 
with  their  fellows.  Life  is  life!"  he  concluded  solemnly 

"A  life  for  a  life  is  not  life,"  she  said  softly. 

"Life  is  life,"  he  repeated  didactically;  "and  you  can't 
make  it  over,  my  dear  woman!" 

"That  is  what  we  hope  to  do!"  she  replied  buoyantly.  "At 
least  for  these  foundlings." 


PARADISE  VALLEY  433 

So  the  university  president  gave  up  his  attempt  to  con 
vince  her  of  the  sentimentality  and  folly  of  her  ideals.  He 
said  something  about  the  "waste  of  her  rich  opportunities, 
the  waste  of  herself,"  designing  a  nearer  approach  to  his 
theme;  but  she  smiled  at  him  coldly,  observing: — 

"I  have  never  in  my  life  felt  that  I  was  living  so  much  as 
now." 

Alexandra's  smile  put  an  end  to  his  suit  and  his  argu 
ment.  So  Butterfield  was  driven  back  to  the  station  through 
the  beautiful  forest,  deploring  the  erratic  character  of  the 
Arnold  blood,  and  sentimentalism  in  women. 

Alexandra  went  her  way,  seeking  to  make  beautiful  lives 
out  of  these  waifs -placed  by  fate  hi  her  hands,  teaching  them 
to  value  possessions  little,  to  value  life  —  the  supreme  privi 
lege  of  being  —  enormously,  to  regard  all  labor  as  of  equal 
use  and  honor,  and  the  end  of  living  as  something  quite  be 
yond  the  art  of  getting  a  living.  In  spite  of  the  jeers  of  friends 
and  the  sneers  of  Gossom  and  Todd  (in  Ambition,  which  had 
been  revived  opportunely  with  the  reviving  City),  Alexandra 
maintained  serenely  her  faith  in  her  ideal.  It  is  too  soon  to 
say  how  her  foundlings  fared  when  they  strayed,  at  manhood 
and  womanhood,  beyond  the  walls  of  Paradise  Valley. 

It  was,  at  least,  a  large  and  happy  family,  presided  over  by  a 
beautiful  woman,  whose  face  never  lost  that  radiance  which 
came  to  it  the  night  of  the  great  disaster  when  she  and  Hugh 
Grant  met  and  parted  forever. 


THE     P 

UNIVERSITY 

OF 

^UFORNVb. 


TTTTS 


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